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■ 

MY FIRST SEASON. 


BY 


BEATRICE REYNOLDS. 

/I 


EDITED BY THE AUTHOR OF 


“COUNTERPARTS,” AND “CHARLES AUCHESTER.” 


NEW YORK: 

W. P. FETPJDGE & CO., FRANIvLTN SQUARE. 
BOSTON : FETRIDGE & CO. 






1856 . 


4 






vS* li t* 1 . 

\:^(-.pqek 

\Z'r 10, ' J '7 
THE UEPA;.^ C; 


I > 

v> > 


I ■ 


BTKBEOTTFED BT 
TBOUAS B. SMITH, 

82 & 84 Beekman Street. 


FRIKTSD BT 
E. H. GROSSMAH, 

82 & 84 Beekman St 




MY FIRST SEASON. 


CHAPTER I. 

I AM the only child of Anne Yaux, sixth 
daughter of the sixteenth Baron Ailye ; a barofi 
proud of not being an earl — as all the Ailyes are. 
My mother married a clergyman, whose erudition 
was remarkable, though he was remarkable for 
nothing else. He was chaplain at Ashleigh Place, 
the chief seat of the Ailyes, but never came to 
town; and, although my mother was married at 
the chapel in the house, I have reason to believe 
that the union was execrated by her family, as 
her father never raised my own from his obscure 
position : which, however, he preferred to any ec- 
clesiastical dignity, with or without ease. 

My acquaintance with my mother will begin in 
heaven ; for, marrying late and ^hen in broken 
health, she died almost at my birth. I believe 
my father regretted, as I am sure he loved, her ; 
for when I recollect him first his hair was gray, 


4 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


and there were lines npon his brow which only sor- 
row can draw in the face of a man not forty years 
of age. 

We lived in a small parsonage in a very un- 
fashionable neighborhood ; and only two servants 
ruled within doors — ^the one calling herself house- 
keeper, and certainly confining her attention to 
the house, for I never knew her put her head out 
of the window, except to go to church. My nurse 
was her sister, and as like her as one pea is said to 
be like another; inasmuch, as, thinking air un- 
fiecessary for a child, and exercise positively need- 
ful, she made me walk before breakfast up and 
down the nursery with my bonnet on one hundred 
times^ every morning. I generally breakfasted in 
my bonnet, that I might be ready to run into the 
garden ; which she could not forbid me to fre- 
quent, though thither she never followed me. I 
delighted in this garden, where nothing ever 
flourished, because the gardener only came twice a 
year ; first in spring to weed and roll the walks, 
and secondly in autumn to lop and train a deter- 
minately fruitless vine. Directly he left, the weeds 
came up again, and faster than ever the stones up- 
on the walks became glued together with snails’ 
slime. In its weedy condition I best liked this 
garden, and acted in it all sorts of plays, both 
sacred and profane, with no audience except 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


5 


a pet toad, which, lived in an old watering- 
pot that was lined with cobwebs, and to whose 
daily wants I ministered by providing it with 
water and pastry made of mud and grass well mixed. 

My first-formed impression, as a child, was that 
of the day of judgment ; which I expected every 
night when I went to bed, with great curiosity, 
and not a touch of terror: indeed, considerable 
disappointment affected me in the morning to find 
it had not arrived. At four years old I could read 
in the Bible ; a series of prophetical visions occu- 
pied my mind, and my heart overflowed with 
pleasure in that first of all poetry, the Psalms. I 
was seven years .old when one day my father 
found me preaching to the chairs in his study with 
his Latin Bible in my hand, and discovered I had 
an ear for languages. He was himself a prince of 
linguists, and forthwith he began to teach me 
Latin grammar. I considered Latin an abstruse 
game — still a game merely, and the best of all my 
plays; so much so that, observing Greek to ap- 
pear even a more abstruse game than Latin, I be- 
gan Greek too. My father next perceiving that, 
instead of writing a young lady’s hand, I printed 
all my letters, and sometimes mixed up Greek and 
English capitals in a word, took away my books, 
and sent me to a school in the nearest town ; in- 
tending that I should remain there one quarter to 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


be taugbt to write, and then return to him. I 
staid at school a night and a morning, and ran 
home the next afternoon ; mj impulse being, not 
horror of milk-and-water or backboards — in those 
days not extinct — ^but an innate antipathy I natu- 
rally had to a crowd, even during a childhood 
which has matured into a life whose greatest charm 
is solitude. 

From that hour my father, who never in his life 
reproved me, taught me entirely himself. Perhaps 
studious tastes were natural to me : I certainly as- 
sumed habits of study, even then. 

I was nearly fourteen when my father was 
drenched in a violent rain-storm, and sat, during 
a pastoral yisit in his wet dress. His return to 
his home was for the last time, for he had caught 
a cold which issued in fever ; that fever passed to 
typhus, and ended fatally. I was with him 
during his whole illness, which, though sharp, was 
short ; the servants vainly tried to remove me, 
and at last I was found by them asleep — asleep 
on the bosom of one who slept no longer, except 
in death. I remained beside him afterward, 
when others had laid him in his study — ^it seemed 
for many days. One morning, as I still sat there, 
not stunned but sorrowful, a gentleman entered, 
and led me from the room with a firm yet gentle 
hand. 


CHAPTER II 


The morning after the funeral I found myself 
for the first time in my life driven in a post-chaise 
through beautiful country. I had seen no sylvan 
scenes before, and for miles and miles I could not 
withdraw my gaze even to glance at the pale be- 
ing who sat beside me : for I had found out that 
he was pale the day before — almost as pale as was 
my father’s face in death. It was Lord Ailye, who 
was taking me with him, as I soon -discovered, to 
his own home; but I was too inexperienced at 
that time to be aware of the greatness of his gentle 
charity in doing so. I had never seen him, 
scarcely ever heard of him, until after my father 
died. For some hours after we set out. Lord 
Ailye was as silent as I, but at last, while I was 
leaning forward to catch the last bright glimpse of 
a golden hop-ground in the evening sun, he touched 
my shoulder, then drew me from the window to 
the seat beside him, and began to talk. 

Did your father speak of his hopes to you ? 
Was his soul at peace ?” 


8 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


I trembled to my heart, for death was still to me 
a name ineffable. I replied, without consideration, 
very bashfully and foolishly. 

“ I do not know. Lord Ailye.” 

“Do not call me Lord Ailye,” he replied, 
“call me Edward. You must be my child, tall 
Beatrice : I have, four children even now at 
home.” 

How young they must be I I thought ; for I 
knew he had succeeded to the title while yet a 
minor, not many years before ; though I knew not 
so much more about him as whether he had also 
married. So very young I thought him, to have 
such deep lines round his dark blue but inex- 
pressibly mournful eyes ; the furrows of dried-up 
tears, as even then I knew. His dark hair had a 
slight, damp curl, and, despite his air of reserve, 
half pride, half sad humility, he was too pale not 
to touch the heart, while far. too handsome not to 
strike the fancy. So suddenly affected, I took 
his hand, a freak which seemed to please him, for 
he smiled. 

“ You are not well,” I said, “ Edward ;” for I 
thought he would like to be called so. 

“It is well to be ill,” he replied, in his par- 
ticularly dry, though gentle tones, “it reminds 
us of what we must never forget — that we are 
dust — ^that while we live we die — that our rest 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


9 


is not upon earth — that Faith alone can console 
us in our weakness.” 

What has that to do with being ill? I thought ; 
for when I was ill in nay little way it was ever my 
habit to disallow my suffering ; to keep it out of 
sight, if possible. 

“You have been confirmed, Beatrice?” he re- 
sumed. 

“ Not yet,” I answered. 

“ Of course your dear father prepared you ?” 

My father, no doubt, deeming me a perfect 
child, had never spoken to me on the subject 
personally. 

“No,” I said; then added, fearing to dis- 
please my cousin, “ but he taught me every 
thing.” 

Then Edward was speechless for a time, per- 
haps not knowing what to say. 

It was middle summer and yet daylight when 
we reached Ashleigh Place; though it became 
dark immediately we passed into the gates, be- 
neath such trees as I had never dreamed of, so 
broad of girth, so thick in leaf, in such rich, al- 
most sublime variety. Deep calls of rooks filled 
one long avenue, in another grove doves moaned 
in mournful concert, a heron soared out of the 
elms, and squirrels shook the fir spires. The 
mansion was worthy of its position; placed far 


10 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


within the gates, still environed bj a moat and 
defended by a drawbridge, it was built of stone 
and brickwork, harmoniously blended, in a style 
in which neither mediaeval nor modern architects 
have designed and dreamed. 

We drove past the grand entrance, at which I 
had hoped we should alight, to a door in one of 
the wings, and there Edward lifted me himself 
from the carriage. We entered a small passage, 
in which stood One grave graybeard of a servant, 
who opened for us the door of a large room 
plainly furnished, and then retired into the shade. 
This room was already lighted for the evening, 
with wax candles, in heavy candlesticks of bronze. 
Two little boys were playing with a puzzle at the 
table, a young lady, of my own age, sat before a 
reading-desk, and a boy, older, though, not taUer, 
than she, was standing before some shelves with 
a book beneath each arm, and another volume in 
his hand. 

“ Kowena and George, this is our dear Beatrice. 
Spen and Willie, come and kiss your cousin,” 
Lord Ailye said, with an authority super-parental ; 
and they all greeted me. The eldest pleased me 
best, as he ever since has done. His eyes were 
not blue, like Edward’s, but clearest hazel; his 
hair was brighter, his features were far more 
beautiful, yet in his beauty there was nothing 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


11 


feminine. Eowena, two years younger than 
George, was tall and slender, with a quantity 
of long ringlets, and no expression in her face 
except consciousness of those extraordinary curls. 
As for Spencer and Wilton, they were yellow- 
haired, like their mother, who had been a Gordon 
— ^they were not Yaux in any feature. 

I drank tea with my cousins in another room 
at hand, ancT Edward was present still ; besides 
whom, I saw without observing — for I was almost 
asleep in my chair — that there was a lady making 
tea, and that two gentlemen were also at the 
table, with George sitting between them. After 
tea I was guarded to the door of the room in 
which I was to sleep, by Lord Ailye himself, who 
pronounced a benison audibly upon me while he 
kissed my cheek. 

My bed-room was large, a window sunk into a 
deep recess reached the high ceiling : the dark- 
red curtains were close drawn, but I directly 
opened them, and the blinds besides, that I 
might see the trees, and the moonlight upon the 
water in the park. The wing in which I slept 
was haunted ; as I was in due time informed — ^by 
the maids, of course — not by George, to whom a 
goblin was ever a rat or a robber : and I certainly 
heard noises there, whether bred of ghostly com- 
pany or not. I liked these noises, having never 


12 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


in my life found fear my bed-fellow : and truly as 
I live, one night long afterward — ^the night my 
first friend died — saw a soft, blue star wander 
downward, as from the firmament, and melt into 
azure mist upon the bosom of the lake. 

I must not forget to say that a maid knocked 
at my door the evening of my arrival, and inti- 
mated that she was to undress me, if I chose. I 
refused, not liking to be touched by a stranger, 
and, sleepy as I was, I went to rest in my clothes, 
having thrown myself, exhausted, upon the bed. 
But my room looked eastward, and the sun 
awoke me as he rose, shining, as from a prism, 
through the arms of Yaux, which colored the 
diamond panes of every front window in the 
house. I got up and undressed, then bathed and 
dressed again, and bethought myself to examine 
the furniture. It was plain, large, and old; a 
drab carpet, dark-red curtains to the bedstead, a 
square washing-stand, and a toilet-table, without a 
looking-glass, were the results of my immediate 
survey ; but a glance more special revealed a large 
Bible, bound in black, placed upon the table, 
with a Concordance and a copy of the Olney 
Hymns upon either side of it, also bound in 
black. Above the table hung a black frame, con- 
taining a placard bearing in large black letters 
the inscriptions following : 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


13 


“Ye know not the day nor the houi wherein 
the Son of Man cometh.’' 

“ Be thou also ready.” 

I remembered the conversation in the post- 
chaise the day before, and a gust of curiosity 
drove me out of the room, early as it was, and 
down the silent stairs into the great hall, where I 
found myself for the first time. It was larger 
than my father’s church, and most beautifully 
carved in oak ; but there were blank square 
spaces on the walls, where it seemed as though 
pictures had hung, and ought to hang still — the 
carving being richest round these spaces, as though 
to frame gilt frames within them. I was standing 
at the bottom of the staircase when a door open- 
ed suddenly, and I saw Lord Ailye, dressed com- 
pletely as I was myself, and carrying a Bible, into 
which his thumb was shut. Strange to say, he 
did not see me ; his eyes were fixed upon the 
floor as he crossed the hall, and I observed him 
enter a room, which I afterward discovered to be 
the room in which his father died. 

As he closed the door I tried the handle of an- 
other, which led me into an immense dining- 
room, every chair and table in which was piled 
up, in a heap, in the midst, while the candelabra 
were swathed in pieces of the purple damask cur- 
tains, and the edges of the yet remaining hang- 


14 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


ings were bleached with the action of snn-light. 
There were five deep windows, beantifullj mold- 
ed, and when I tried to open one — ^for they opened 
to the ground — the bolt creaked, so rusty was i1 
from disuse. I forced it, however ; but when 1 
had got out of the window to the garden I could 
not shut it again, and was obliged to leave it open: 
in advertisement of that tomboyhood which was 
soon to be crushed within me. 

The garden was alleyed and terraced, charming 
as to its dutline, but miserably deficient in flowers ; 
indeed except roses of the old-fashioned genera, 
that seem to flourish forever, be they once plant- 
ed — found only daisies and dandelions. Pres- 
ently, I wandered near a hot-house, but, entering 
it, I only discovered grapes, which hung in clust- 
ers from the roof. Behind the grapery was a 
strew of frames turned upside down ; and, beyond 
them, I beheld the trees, over the palings of the 
park. Next, I found a gate, but it was locked, 
and I was actually about to try to get over it by 
climbing, when I heard a voice from above, and, 
looking up, saw George, who was sitting high up 
in a tree, with a book in his hand. “ I ’ll come 
down and open the gate,” he cried ; and down he 
came and stood before me, with his face glowing 
like the morning. 

“ Beatrice I” said he j “ Beatrice I” — ^in a voice 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


15 


that made me admire my own name — and then 
smiling, he took my chilly fingers in his warm 
hands : for his han,ds were warm, though he had 
come down out of a tree. Then he went on — 

Why, how long have you been here, and who in 
the world called you so early ?” I told him it was 
my own fault; but before I could explain, he 
asked me to wait for him there while he ran into 
the house. I did so, and in a very little while he 
brought me a cup of milk, and filled with biscuits 
the pockets of my black silk apron. 

“We shall get no breakfast until half past 
eight,” he said, “and that is late enough — ^but I 
should have thought you had lived here all your 
life, instead of running wild, as Edward says you 
have been accustomed to do. Beatrice — ah yes, do 
not think me rude that I call you Beatrice already, 
before I know whether you ’ll let me or not : but 
you are such a true Beatrice — there are eight in 
the gallery now, all hke you, more or less ; and as 
for Miss Eowena, she is more hke her own dis- 
carded doll than a veritable Yaux.” 

“ Oh, may I see the picture-gallery ?” I cried, 
for my father had spoken to me of the pictures. 
“ May I see it now?” I added. 

“You can not,” said Oeorge, “nor I either, for 
it is locked up, and Edward threw the key into the 


16 


MY FIBST SEASON. 


moat about six years ago, or nearly so, when first 
we came here.” 

J^What did he do that for?” I asked, indig- 
nantly. 

“ Because he says beauty is vanity.” 

“ But all is vanity : not beauty in particular.” 

“ Ah ! Mr. Henry was quite right when I asked 
him about you. Shall I tell you what he 
said ?” 

/‘I don’t know who he is.” 

“ My tutor — at least one of them, and the one 
I care for. He said that my cousin was a young 
lady of fine talents, but in danger from her courage 
— a. great deal for him to say. However, now tell 
me Beatrice Yaux — as you are for all the interpos- 
ing Eeynolds — did you find a looking-glass in your 
bed-room ?” 

“Ho; but I thought, of course, that it was a 
mistake. Perhaps the maids thought it was a 
young gentleman coming. I intend to have one, 
though.” 

“We do not intend at Ashleigh: here there is 
but one will. I knew, directly I saw you, that 
they would take away your looking-glass.” 

“But why so?” 

“ Because you are too pretty to look at yourself. 
Edward has good taste, though he mortifies it; 
and he will serve you as he does us, of course.” 




MY FIEST SEASON. 


17 


“ Of course ? — I shall not stay here.” 

I hope you will like to stay, Beatrice ; for if 
Edward says you shall, you ’ll find you must.” 

“What makes you call your father, Edward?” 

“Did you ever climb a tree?” was his reply. 
“ Foi^ you will be standing till you are tired out; 
and if you want to know how we go on here, I 
must tell you now or never. You will not be 
allowed to talk to me before breakfast again, and 
there is not another moment in which we can be 
by ourselves. Edward says young persons ought 
never to be left to themselves — ^but I am wasting 
all our time. Will you come up here ?” 

“ I should like it extremely,” said I ; to whom 
it was no fresh exertion, as I had been accustomed 
to sit on the roof of my father’s house without 
even soilmg my pinafore, as it was the pride of 
my nurse to say. Greorge was perfectly astonished 
at my success, and I believe I rose in his esteem 
immediately I mounted. He had climbed before 
me step by step, and we perched ourselves as safely 
as two birds upon a branch so high that I could 
have counted twenty nests of real birds within a 
glance. All around were leaves, but through the 
leaves an azure twinkle stole ; and one broad gap 
in front disclosed a break of country, the fairest I 
had ever seen — b . hill-side pearled with sheep, upon 


18 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


the slopes of which, to this day, I often wander, 
ankle-deep in moss. 

“ JSTow tell me,” said I, “ about your father.” 

“He is not my father: we are brothers. My 
poor father — ^well he was not like Edward, what- 
ever he was. What made you think so ?” . 

“ He nailed you his children, and told me I 
must be his child. But I have no claim upon 
him.” 

“As much as we have. I dare say you will 
wonder when I have told you, why I stay here — • 
not being a girl, and obliged.” 

“ Indeed ! a girl is not obliged to stay.” 

“Don’t be consequential, madam; you will 
only have to drag your train in the dust. There 
was a time when I was savage too. Eeally and 
truly, Edward — I tell you in confidence, you know 
’ — ^Edward might send any body mad who was not 
born an idiot. Yet, Beatrice, he’s good: extra 
good ; as good as man can be — at least, he means 
to be so. He has some right to call us children, 
for he has been a father to us, and a kind 
one. He lets us live here, which is a good thing 
for us, and will prevent our being so very poor 
some day.” 

“ But you can’t be poor with a place like this; 
and other places, too, papa told me about.” 

“Hot now — there were; and then Ashleigh 


MY FIRST SEASON. 19 

was a show-place, and got so out of repair. But 
when we came here with Edward, he sold the 
others to pay our debts.” 

“Towr debts?” 

*^Ours,” said George, blushing, and looking 
through the leaves the other way. And then I 
was quite sure they were his father’s debts Edward 
had paid. 

“ Of course it makes a great difference to him, 
for he has not thrown us over, as most men would 
have done ; he brings us up entirely, and saves 
what money we have. He is not in a mess now, 
however j and the reason he lives so quietly, and 
has not entered public life, is not because he is so 
generous to us : he never goes to town, because he 
thinks it wicked to mix in the world. I told Mr. 
Henry one day that he might as well persuade 
Edward to go to town, because he would have 
more opportunities for doing good, etc., in London 
than in the country. But Mr. Henry says that 
what Edward would explore in London would 
turn his brain, and perhaps kill him, and that the 
care of his tenants and ourselves is quite as much 
as he can do. Edward is so horribly conscien- 
tious, and so dreadful melancholy with it, that — 
you will think me the most ungrateful and the 
meanest wretch if I go on any more.” 

“I shan’t; it does not interfere with your 


20 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


loving Mm. Every body can’t agree with every 
body.” 

“ And Edward will not marry on our accounts 
— at least, so he says. But I don’t think he would 
marry any how.” 

“ But you seem to have a great many persons 
living in the house.” 

“Yes ; and I was going to tell you that 
Eowena’s governess is no trouble at all, though 
she is under Edward : she does not see half her 
time, and the other half she does not hear. Mind, 
I do not say such things to Eowena, for she would 
not understand ; but you do. You saw Mr. Henry ; 
what do you think of him ?” 

“Your tutor, I suppose ? — ^but I saw two.” 

“Yes; Wrench came for classics and mathe- 
matics, and he is called chaplain ; but he never 
preaches, as we go to the parish church, and 
he never has any opportunity of lecturiug, for 
Edward has prayers himself. However, Wrench 
is harmless, and I never say a word against him, 
as he can not help being stupid ; and what I know 
of Greek I learned from Mr. Henry. For Latin, 
Wrench may stand. You know I might have 
gone to Eton for less than Edward pays these two 
to keep me here.” 

“ I should have thought you would like Eton 
best ; I should, if I were a boy.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


21 


I should think so ; and, though you may not 
believe it, I can tell you I was just going to run 
away altogether, when Mr. Henry came.” 

“ But why do you have two tutors, then ?” 

I never ask why, for fear of losing one.” 

“ You are very fond of him, then ?” 

^‘Fond is a girl’s word — ^but I would die for 
him. I hope he will teach you : he teaches 
Eowena French and German ; but she don’t 
learn either — she can’t. Perhaps you will, for I 
know you can.” 

“Yes, I can learn languages, papa said. I 
mean to study all.” 

“ That will do for Mr. Henry. If persons don’t 
love learning they ought not to be taught — so he 
says. I told you I would not have staid here if 
he had not come, and now I would rather live 
here all my life with him than get out into the 
world and lose him there. But he puzzles me 
sometimes ; for you know he can’t possibly care 
so much for me as to stay for my sake alone.” 

“I suppose he likes teaching.” 

“Ho more than I should naturally — at least, to 
do nothing else, you know I He has great power 
over people, and he makes Edward behave quite 
small ; but there ’s nobody to control, besides, at 
Ashleigh, and if he loves influence he can’t exer- 
cise it. He teaches every thing ; for I do believe 


22 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


there is nothing he does not know, and I think 
his manner finer even than Edward’s. He ’s an 
exile, though, and that may have something to do 
with his remaining here, if he wants, as perhaps 
he does, to be out of the way. You know all 
about the Poles — Kosciusko is Mr. Henry’s hero, 
and I think he’ s full of fighting blood, for he sets 
his lips hard, and blushes red to his brows, when 
we read of battles in the Greek books. I think, 
don’t you, that all Poles are heroes — ^not only 
Kosciusko. I only wish we might pick some 
quarrel which should get us into war with Eussia ; 
I long to fight the Kussians — to crush them, for 
their own sakes and Poland’s too.” 

“ I don’t know any thing about the Poles except 
that they were shamefully treated. I only read 
ancient history with papa, and English and French 
history — ^papa said hardly any person is up in 
early French history. Will you tell me about the. 
Poles, if you please ?” 

“ I can’t, but Mr. Henry can, and I will ask 
him to do so ; it would take too long to give you 
even an outline. I often wonder why he remains 
in an inglorious retreat like this — why he does not 
try to get up something for the Poles. He never 
has a single letter, do you know, Beatrice; and 
every Saturday evening he goes out alone — ^the 
only times he don’t ask me for my company ; ^nd 


MY FIRST SEAS'ON. 


23 


I daxe not ask him for his. Where he goes it is 
impossible to discover; of course one would not 
wish to do so, but I must say I wonder. 

“Perhaps he has a wife,” I sagely suggested, 
“ and some children, he goes to see after.” 

“Impossible! As if Mr. Henry would ever 
live away from his wife and children I He would 
have taken them to America, and he would have 
made his fortune there. Besides, I asked him 
once if he never intended to marry, because his 
descriptions of all the beautiful and celebrated 
women are so well drawn ; and he said he thought 
not; indeed, he had never given the subject a 
moment’s thought. And, to tell truth, I dare n’t 
ask him many questions, for fear he should not 
like it, and should go away.” 

“What do you mean to be when you grow 
up ?” I asked ; having a settled impression that to 
be nothing at aU was odious. 

“I mean to be a soldier in time of wai^ and a 
statesman in time of peace — at least, I wish to be ; 
but 1 dare say it is impossible. Mr. Henry says 
he could promise me either in perfection, but hot 
both together. And I suppose, Beatrice, you are 
ambitious, as you ask me whether I am.” 

“I can’t be a statesman, and papa said he 
thought female politicians were detestable. Well, 
I should like to learn more than any woman ever 


24 


MY* FIRST SEASON. 


knew, and to write books mistaken for a 
man’s.” 

“ Ask Mr. Henry, then — or I will, and he’ll tell 
yon whether yon can. He knows every thing 
abont every body.” 

There was a good deal more of this conversa- 
tion, very dnll, donbtless, except to the talkers 
themselves; and which may seem, on George’s 
part, more like an innocent grown-np man than 
a clever boy’s chatter. However, the hfe, apart 
from other boys, he led, and the honrs passed in 
the society of so accomplished and dignified a per- 
son as I fonnd Mr. Henry to be, had rendered his 
pnpil qnite an excelling specimen of what tme 
edncation can achieve nnder the most favorable 
anspices. It was certainly remarkable to find that 
George liked talking to me as he would have 
talked with a boy companion— perhaps better, for 
his ideas of ladyhood were naturally loyal, and 
that leaven of vulgarity and bearishness, which 
ever mingle in a mixed community of youth, 
had no more tarnished the chivalry of his beha- 
vior than it had polluted his pure vocabulary with 
slang or innuendo. 

He was still going on about Mr. Henry, as 
though no other tutor had ever flourished, when 
this gentleman himself came underneath the tree, 
and called to George, not knowing I was there. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


25 


George sprang from his seat directly ; but, despite 
the attractive cause, he helped me to the ground 
with patience, and when we got there introduced 
me to his master on the spot. As Mr. Henry, after 
bowing gravely, followed behind us until we reach- 
ed the house, it was impossible for me to examine 
him then. 

In the study, each person was seated in a chair 
against the wall, and the whole household had so 
met — twelve women, six men, and a couple of 
pages, the governess, the classical tutor, and the 
children. All present held their Bibles in their 
hands, and Edward sat before a Bible in the midst. 
Lord Ailye prayed long before reading, after read- 
ing expounded longer, and then prayed while we 
knelt. This service was before breakfast, and lasted 
just an hour. 


2 


CHAPTER III. 


My life became immediately routine. It was 
not a variation from routine that I saw Lord 
Ailye alone in the evening, for it happened to be 
Saturday the day after I arrived, and on Saturday 
each of his children had an interview with him, 
to be questioned, admonished, warned — never, by 
any chance, to be praised. Eather impatient to 
hear what he would say, I took my seat in his 
library ; a hbrary containing no books except on 
divinity and history — that is, the books of divinity 
and history which all baptized men read. The 
rest of the magnificent though miscellaneous col- 
lection made by the chiefs of his family before 
him, had undergone cremation upon the hearth in 
the great hall ; except the Yaux MSS., which re- 
lated to illustrious deeds, if anti-pacific ones — and 
the genealogical tree, a map of which displayed its 
proportions to the least small spray, wide open upon 
the library wall. 

“ I am glad to see you, Beatrice,” he began, in 
a mournful voice, that had the effect upon me of 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


27 


making me feel I must langk tkongb. I dared not 
even smile. “You know wky I wished to see you 
here.” 

“ No,” answered I, sincerely. 

He proceeded, in a still more plaintive tone, 
“ 1 fear, Beatrice, that you have led a very thought- 
less life. I love you, but if I did not desire to 
draw you to my heart, I should still be anxious 
for your spiritual safety. I fear you do not 
consider the one thing needful as the only thing ; 
and I have observed, already, that you are eager 
about trifles. Oh ! my child, remember the choice 
you have to make I” 

I remembered having looked in the morning, 
while Edward was in the room, for a pair of combs 
which had fallen from my hair while I was playing 
with the little ones ; combs, of course, were trifles, 
but I recollected no choice requiring consideration 
just then. 

“I am very sorry,” I said, “that you were 
vexed about those ridiculous combs; but you 
know I have not much money, and must take 
care of my things : gentlemen do not know how 
dear combs are — ^proper combs, real tortoiseshell, 
of a nice shape. I don’t know what you mean 
about a choice.” 

“There is no compromise, Beatrice — between 
heaven and hell.” 


28 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


Some cMdren would have been terrified into 
discretion by the intense pathos of his tone. I felt 
inchned to smile, but with difficulty prevented my- 
self. I said : 

“ I wish, Lord Ailye, that you would not talk 
about those things; papa never did — I mean in 
lhat way.” 

“You are then in a state as sad as I suspected. 
I fear, I greatly fear, that it would not be to 
heaven, if you were taken now. You have had 
a lesson lately which you ought not so easily to 
forget.” 

“ I have not forgotten — ^but I can not speak so, 
aloud, to you.” 

“ Unhappy child ! and more unhappy father I” 

“ He is not unhappy — ^he was not unhappy !” 

“ Beatrice, my own father lived a wild hfe, and 
died a hard death : the end of transgressors is hard, 
and he transgressed, repenting not. Shall I, a worm, 
presume to screen him in my own heart from di- 
vine justice, because I loved him ? As Christians, 
our affections must be crucified.” 

“It was the disciples who were to give up 
children, and fathers, and houses. I could have 
^ done so to follow one who was despised and re- 
jected!” 

“Then where is your faith, Beatrice, if you 
could not now give up all ?” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


29 


“Well, Edward, then I do not understand why 
yon went to pray in the room in which your father 
died I” 

He started; the rigor of his aspect yielded, he 
laid his hand on mine, 

“ My child must not be cnrions — and such curi- 
osity is unpardonable.” 

“ I am not curious — about other persons’ con- 
cerns I never care to know ; but I could not help 
seeing you, for I was coming down stairs as 
you went into that room, and if you had not been 
looking down you would have seen me. I asked 
your brother what room it was, certainly; but I 
did not tell him I saw you : I do not gossip. Lord 
Ailye.” 

He withdrew not his hand, but pressed mine. 

“Beatrice, you think too highly of yourself. 
You mistake natural pride, which is born of the 
devil in you, for that purity, falsely called honor, 
which none but the converted possess, and then not 
of themselves. It is the curse of our blood — it 
blackens and deepens the stain of original sin. I 
feel for you, as I have struggled with pride even 
from my birth, and with an agonizing struggle I I 
feel for you, Beatrice, for great is your temptation; 
but my child, when you are tempted to yield to it, 
heap dust and ashes upon the altar of your heart, 
and kneel in prayer.” 


80 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


‘‘I beg your pardon, Edward: I thought you 
would not like any one to know I saw you. Be- 
sides, we are to pray in secret, that we may be re- 
warded openly.” 

My possessing imp was of too subtle stuff for the 
intellectual perception of Lord Ailye. 

“ Beatrice, I do not pray beside that bed because 
I think that my prayers wiU avail to lighten for a 
single instant, throughout eternity, the just tor- 
ments of any lost soul I” 

“ Then it is on your own account you pray, Ed- 
ward.” 

Despite my irritant remark he yet relaxed. 

“ Dear Beatrice, you have a warm and hopeful 
heart ! May the Lord draw you with the cords 
of his love early — may the condemnation of a sin- 
ful life be spared you I So narrow is the way — 
may your feet be set in it ! So very few find it — 
may you be one I” 

“But every one who thirsts may come to the 
waters, Edward — and all the weary rest, if they 
only will !” 

He sighed, his forehead seemed to grow more 
narrow, the line of his lips was almost lost between 
their pressure. I went on, taking advantage of his 
momentary pause. 

“May I learn German, Edward of George’s 
tutor?” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


31 


“ How could you know any thing about George^s 
tutor, Beatrice ?” 

‘'I asked him, and he told me — don’t be angry, 
it, was my fault.” 

‘'You have been wasting time already, then, 
alas I I have no objection to your learning of Mr. 
Henry, for he is a Christian, and humble in his own 
eyes.” 

I had a suspicion, even then, that this humility 
was but a Christian name for the modesty which 
is ever the sheltering leaf to the flower of life called 
genius. But I had also learned already only indi- 
rectly to contradict my noble cousin. Fearful of a 
relapse, I went on as fast as possible. 

“ How long am I to stay here? This is not curi- 
osity ; but you see I can not help wishing to know 
— ^for I can not be dependent.” 

“We must not talk of these things to-night, on 
the eve of the Sabbath ; on Monday I will find 
time to teU you as much as it is needful you should 
know.” 

“ I need to know every thing ; I can’t go to bed, 
nor, I am sure, think about Sunday, unless you tell 
me. It is cruel of you not to tell me ; and you will, 
won’t you, Edward ?” . 

He took hold of my hand. 

“You have not enough money to live upon 
alone, my child ; but that is nothing, as you 


82 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


are mine. If you had, you would still remain 
here.” 

“I would not, one hour. How much have I 
really, then ? Papa told me my mother had none, 
because she married him, but that he had saved 
a little.” 

“Yes, seventy pounds a year,” replied Ed- 
ward, rather haughtily, as it struck me, not on 
account of the money being sex little, but be- 
cause my mother had changed her name to mine. 

“ I could go to school for seventy pounds a 
year, and buy my clothes,” remarked I, feel- 
ing rather inclined to pique him; “and when 
I grow up I can be a governess, as many ladies are.” 

I was not prepared for the sudden darkness 
which overspread Lord Ailye’s white complexion : 
he frowned horribly ; he clutched my hand, which 
before he had lightly pressed. 

“Beatrice I how dare you disobey me? how 
dare you call in question my decision ? how dare 
you, above all things, mention such a suggestion 
as you have just made. A Yaux never worked 
for bread, nor ever shall — it has been ordained 
that it should not be necessary, and it never 
shall be I” 

“It might not be unnecessary, Edward, and 
might just have to be. I am a Eeynolds, not a 
Yaux, and therefore it would not signify.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


33 


“ While with a Yaux you are a Yaux, and have 
to respect his will accordingly. Not a word more 
on the subject.” 

Now I do believe that you have struggled 
with pride ‘even from your birth;’ and perhaps 
you will believe I have no pride to struggle 
with.” 

For the first time I here saw Edward laugh; but 
he turned his head aside, and when he looked at 
me again, he frowned. 

“This is not the strain of conversation for 
Saturday evening. The rich and the poor are 
alike God’s creatures; and though the lowly be his 
favorites, he does extend his love to those more 
pitiable, the lofty. He himself made and register- 
ed degrees and ranks ; the Saviour himself regard- 
ed them.” 

“ He was a prince of the house of David, Edward, 
but he worked in a carpenter’s shop.” 

I believe young gentlemen are more prudent 
than young ladies ; for George assured me he had 
never gone so far. Perhaps it was as well for my 
peace that I took such a stand at once. Edward 
covered his face with his hands, and mused ; per- 
haps upon me ; perhaps for once he felt helpless ; 
at all events, he returned not to the charge that 
night; but having read and prayed with me 
awhile, dismissed me to my bed. 

2 * 


CHAPTER IV. 


It has been said there is no royal road to 
learning; but I myself have trodden it, and 
could tell bright stories of that secret path, which 
none can find nor keep unless their feet be set 
therein by the strong intellect or genius crowned 
with its success. Fed perpetually by the fresh 
fountains of my teacher’s wisdom, I fainted not 
upon the heights of knowledge ; and the rich 
fruits of his experience have dropped among the 
laurels which I snatched upon the summit of 
those hills. 

I have now lived long enough, and have seen 
enough of sorrow and of care, to know that it is 
possible, if one has a heart, to live perfectly con- 
tented without the indulgence of passionate love — 
but impossible, if one has an intellect, to exist 
without intellectual sympathy. 

As Lord Ailye never allowed young persons to 
be alone together — ^the conversation I held with 
George in the tree-top being the single exception 
to an enduring rule — I could not ask whether I 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


35 


was always to be subjected to tbe companionsbip 
of Eowena while taking lessons. This compan- 
ionship I sincerely detested, and not without 
reason; for her disposition irritated mine, and 
her indolence oppressed my intellect. Therefore, 
as Greorge’s room was underneath my own, I 
wrote a letter of complaint and inquiry, by the 
light of the rising sun, and as soon as I heard 
his shutter open, I lowered it by a thread until it 
touched his glass, when of course he opened his 
window and drew it in. His answer he con- 
veyed to me the next evening, at prayers, in his 
Bible, which he exchanged for mine under pre- 
tense of politely finding my place. I just mention 
this as a hint to parents and guardians, that if they 
insist on unnatural measures during their necessary 
authority, the results will be contempt for unneces- 
sary restrictions, and an insincere recourse to what 
is naturally hateful to a noble child — deception in 
any form. 

George informed me that Mr. Henry said if I 
learned under him as successfully as I had begun 
to study under my father, he would soon give me 
lessons with George alone, instead of with Eowena 
as hitherto. For this end I could have sacrificed 
my sleep entirely ; but it was only necessary to do 
so in part. My memory is naturally strong and 
my head clear ; I can learn any thing I choose, 


86 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


provided I have to attain some knowledge beyond 
what I simply learn. And I discovered my anti- 
poetical temperament early; for I could learn 
much better during the morning hours, even just 
after sunrise, than in the times of twilight or of 
darkness. 

While I took lessons with Eowena, her govern- 
ess of course was present. Eowena was very 
giddy, and the discipline employed by Edward to 
mortify her frivolous tastes only deepened her 
tendency to folly. She pined and groaned after 
amusement — ^which is certainly as necessary to 
some natures as application is agreeable to others ; 
and not finding any thing to do at Ashleigh ex- 
cept what persons were set, or set themselves, to 
do, she relapsed into sulky indolence, which im- 
paired her prettiness and did not improve her 
bearing. Her exercises were ill-written, crooked- 
lined, and blotted — at least, those she wrote for 
Mr. Henry. He seldom made erasures, or called 
attention to her carelessness ; which was evidently 
the habit of her being. He seemed too patient to 
satirize, and as if his nature rejected all compro- 
mise with a person who would not or could not 
learn. Let it be remembered that, strictly con- 
scientious as he was, he frequently urged upon 
Edward the propriety of Eowena remaining under 
female tutorage only; but Edward would not 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


37 


submit to tbis arrangement, for lie could not be 
made to understand wby Eowena should not get 
on as well as George — or, at least, as well as I 
did. 

Our master might not have suited some natures, 
and could not have instructed many ; though he 
was capable of controlling any number of indi- 
viduals. His distinct realization of the faculties 
he perceived, and exact estimate of their possible 
augmentation, were only less remarkable than his 
method — neither rule nor trick— of conveying the 
information he bestowed. 

As for the voice which embodied his instruc- 
tions, or his more rare oracular utterances, it had 
much to do with the effect produced upon those 
who, while they listened to him, learned of him. 
It was a vibrating, weighty tone, yet of peculiar 
softness; while the articulation, though foreign, 
was facile and unconstrained. Accustomed to these 
sounds, I learned to disdain the charms of the 
most laboriously chastened elocution, and the 
studied modulations of the popularly eloquent 
even fret me. 

To study with him languages — ^he master, I be- 
lieve, of all — was as subtile a delight as to listen 
amid the glaciers for the echo of the Eanz des 
Yaches, or in the Yale of Tempe to pluck the 
violet. No fantastic imagery this ; for he infused 


88 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


into his lessons the very poetry, and charm, and 
genius of the tongue he taught. He never taught 
more than one language on the same day ; and 
in this way, we devoted a whole day’s study in 
every week to each language — ^the only plan, I 
believe, which answers the same purpose as travel- 
ing in different countries. The teacher, however, 
in this case must be a traveler too, and as much 
at home in that he teaches as the learner is in his 
native tongue. I went with George a long way, 
and in many paths not traversed by women — at 
least in modern times — from ethnic philosophy to 
the political economy of Christendom, and every 
sphere of science. 

Mr. Henry’s character was as pure and simple 
as his intelligence and acquirements were uni- 
rersal. In creed, he was a Christian who really 
followed in his Master’s steps; faultless in con- 
duct, he was one of the few for whom law was not 
made; being in love a pitying angel, in faith a 
seer. Ever avoiding controversy with those who 
thought not with him, or not so far as he, he yet 
contrived, by delicate tact and refined perception, 
to soften the asperities and relax the rigor of our 
formal training — a training which might have 
proved fatal to a child of genius, but which was 
very excellent, no doubt, for common clever minds 
like mine and George’s. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


89 


The slighter characteristics of our master were 
even engaging, and a few inconsistencies of taste 
lent a quaint fascination to his behavior ; such as 
a love for floriculture and a detestation of botany 
— an adoration of nature and a contempt for mod- 
ern art — a preference for imaginative prose rather 
than for metrical poetry. He delighted in dogs, 
and abhorred cats ; in this one point his chivalry 
failed, as cats will forever be the crest of virgins, 
wise and foolish. George and I were wont to re- 
mark that he was hke the Israehtes in the wilder- 
ness, for his raiment never wore, nor did his shoes 
wax old ; he seemed never, or scarcely ever, to re- 
quire new clothes. He was sufficiently patient, for 
an exile so proud of his paternal land; whose 
doom seemed to deepen his passionate desire to 
return thither but to die. At that time how much 
we wondered and speculated why he remained in 
England; having — as we thought and arranged 
for him — ^no ties in this country. 

Enough of this. A great cause of our perhaps 
premature acquaintance with books other and 
wiser than those young persons generally read, 
was that Mr. Henry possessed among his slight 
incumbrances one cherished case of volumes, so 
rare as to be found but seldom in public and 
scarcely ever in private libraries. These books 
were in many languages, and none of them had 


40 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


been translated; while Mr. Henry would cun- 
ningly and mysteriously read us choice bits here 
and there, but would never translate these either. 
So, desperate to get at the meaning his melo- 
dious accents actually kept back from us, we 
would study harder than ever a tongue we had 
already attacked ; and even begin a fresh one on 
purpose. 


CHAPTER V. 


Rowena and I were seventeen the same year ; 
we were extremely nnlike in most, yet resembled 
each other in some respects ; for instance, we were 
both quite ignorant of the world, in so far as that 
we had not seen nor communicated with a single 
soul except those constituting the household at 
Ashleigh Place. We were still going on as usual, 
in routine which seemed immutable, when a change 
took place, tremendous to us, and effected by no 
mortal agency. 

Edward’s life was consistent from his cradle to 
his grave ; if he never relaxed in his discipline of 
others, he yet more rigorously restrained himself 
from all that makes life joyous or sensation 
rapture. Few years did the work of many upon 
his frame ; for not only was he predisposed to dis- 
ease, it had long reigned secretly within him.* 
The tragic contraction of his opinions never ren- 
dered him absurd, even for a mind most suscept- 
ible to the ludicrous; because his conduct was 
without a flaw — ^his heart, which seemed so cold. 


42 


MY FIKST SEASON, 


perhaps had not strength to feel. I might have 
puzzled over his character to the present hour, 
but for the hints of one whom I never knew mis- 
jude a single person, and who excelled anj I have 
ever known. 

A week before George came of age, I went one 
morning into Edward’s room, for the purpose of 
consulting him about an entertainment which was 
upon that occasion to be provided for the tenantry 
in the park; this being a dissipation which, less 
developed, had been our carnival each season until 
then. 

Lord Adye was not in the library, nor had the 
servants seen him, nor could he be found in any 
room to which I had access. Then I went into 
the study, and questioned Mr. Henry, who was 
writing a letter, but was kind enough to answer 
me. 

“Lord Ailye is ill,” he said, “I am writing for 
the physician.” 

Yet I had seen him at prayers that morning, and 
thought him looking as he always did. 

“ Is he worse ? He is never well, I know, and I 
• have often wondered why.” 

“Do you know that your cousin Lord Ailye 
has never been out of pain for a single hour in his 
life?” 

“ Good heavens I” I cried, despite my puritanic 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


43 


breeding. “ No person conld live in constant pain 
for six and twenty years !” 

“ They might not live much longer.” 

I was amazed ; stricken with awe and surprise. 

“ But I fancied you did not like him,” I'said, 
with ingenuous impertinence ; “I thought you did 
not agree with him.” 

“ I go beyond him perhaps — ^he will soon be be- 
yond me.” 

“Will he die then? I never thought of 
that.” 

“What we call dying — ^how unlike death to 
him!” 

“ I should like to know what makes you speak 
so now, for you think and teach so differently ; 
your views of life are wide, as wide as the world — 
and his are narrow, as narrow as the grave ?” 

“ I see from the mountain, because I am in per- 
fect health. Lord Ailye watches from the valley, 
and through the mist besides ; for his brain is en- 
feebled : pain has subdued his spirit.” 

“ But this pain — is it natural? is it just?” • 

“ The sins of the father shall be visited upon the 
children — ” 

I needed to ask no more. 

George came in half an hour afterward, in dis- 
may which he could not hide; for he, too, had 
missed his brother. The house was raised, and 


44 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


every person scattered straiglitway within and 
without. Mr. Henry went forth with GeorgO; and 
he took the right direction. 

His knowledge of the habitude of character 
led him at once to the tomb of Lord AHye’s 
father in the chapel, where no one had thought 
of looking; because it was never used. On the 
stone beneath the monument lay Edward, either 
fainting or asleep : when he was placed upon his 
bed he still remained unconscious. The phy- 
sician for whom Mr. Henry had sent had watched 
Edward many years ; though we never knew it, or 
had seen him, as Lord Ailye consulted him at his 
own house in the county town : this fancy of an 
invalid was perhaps a relic of the pride he abhorred 
in himself. 

Lord Ailye awoke, but never rallied. His af- 
fairs had been arranged for years. No words but 
the gentlest and the softest passed those stern lips 
when they smiled their last upon us. 

I went into my room alone as the twilight 
deepened into darkness, not caring to take a 
lamp when we all were so hurried and so hushed ; 
and from my window then, though I know not the 
hour nor the minute, I saw the azure light of 
which I have spoken before, when a cloud covered 
the face of the sky, and the moon had long since 
set. I told George of it three hours afterward, 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


45 


while we were sitting up together, quite expecting 
to he disbelieved ; but he started, and burst into 
tears. It was midnight when I for the first time 
heard the legend of the family — which I here pre- 
serve, in memory of one whom it was impossible 
to regret in death. 

“Eanulf de Yaux, the hly of chivalry and the 
blood-red rose of war, entered Jerusalem with 
Godfi:ey, on the 15th of July, 1099. The hot march 
fevered his body, weakened after many wounds, 
and he could not reach the Holy Sepulcher. Then 
he cried sore to see Christ’s Light, crossing his 
hands upon his breast. And the heavens opened 
in the east, and the same star that was over Beth- 
lehem came out and stood straight over him, and 
shone down into his breast. And the Star found 
no evil in his breast, and no love nor lust, only the 
lily of chivalry and the blood-red rose of war. 
An d a voice came out of the Star and said, 
‘What would’st thou in thine hour?’ And he 
answered, ‘I would sink into the earth where I 
lie, that no infidel may handle me.’ And the 
Star went down into his breast and burned up 
his mortal body, and sank with the ashes into the 
earth. 

“And Edyth de Yaux, his mother who bare 
him, was at her tower of Ayslye in the Islands of 
the North. And she, praying toward the east 


46 


MY FIRST SEASOK. 


for her son to God-Christ, saw a star not like other 
stars fall out of heaven into the water that was nigh 
the tower ; and she saw, in a dream that night, 
Eannlf de Yaux, with a star on his breast, and 
lilies and roses in his crown, standing on a place 
where there was no land. And when a Yanx shall 
die a virgin, with his hands crossed upon his breast, 
the Star shall fall, in token that he goeth to God- 
Christ without spot; but the star sinks with his 
ashes into the earth.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


By Edward’s will, wMcli of course could not af- 
fect George, I shared in every arrangement that 
could benefit his sister and brothers. The two 
young boys were to be left under the care of their 
classical instructor, who was also clerical; while 
the only feminine relation in whom the late Lord 
Ailye had confided was to take charge, until we 
came of age, of Rowena and of me. 

This lady was sole daughter of the only brother 
of Edward’s father, and therefore so slightly related 
to me that I could not have claimed the kindness 
she extended to me forthwith. Having received 
my impressions of her from Lord Ailye, I could 
not possibly have conceived how unlike them she 
reaUy was. She had corresponded with him from 
time to time : but these communications had not 
once been superseded by a personal interview, since 
I went to Ashleigh. 

We were told that she was engaged, as every 
righteous mother should be, in training an only 
son in the , way he ought to go ; and sometimes 


48 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


Edward had read us passages from her letters to 
him, which breathed a piet j far warmer than his 
own — the free personality of which, and its really 
amiable ardor, no doubt afforded him relief. 

A prescience must have possessed him that it 
would be impossible to prevent our ultimately 
discovering that the world we lived in was larger 
than Ashleigh Place; and for our initiation, he 
had endeavored to bespeak a person who would 
hoodwink while she chaperoned, and keep our gar- 
ments white, as she had preserved her own. Never 
shall I forget the morning on which she dawned 
upon us ; I discovered that her piety differed as 
much from his as the wayside milestone from the 
Corinthian capital. 

When a traveling carriage deposited her at Ash - 
leigh a fortnight after the funeral, we were all at 
a loss how to receive her ; except Mr. Henry, 
who took every thing upon himself in the way 
of entertainment and explanation, and whom she 
treated as if he were a foreign envoy on a visit 
of courtesy to her own court, she being queen. 
But I discovered afterward that this intense punc- 
tilio was only exercised by her toward him because 
she knew him to be a tutor in the house. In her 
etiquette, this position of his implied that she con- 
sidered him beneath hjpr, and therefore she treated 
him in a style as if he were above her — an illogi- 


% 

MY FIRST SEASON. 49 

cal form of higli breeding adhered to by her lady- 
ship like a Persian or a Mede. 

While she ate luncheon, she discussed and 
settled every thing — ^made the most heart-rending 
allusions to Edward, and called George Lord 
Ailye in a breath— languished one moment after 
palm branches and hymn-tunes played on harps, 
and the next signified her intention of carrying 
us to town that afternoon, because she could not 
sleep in a haunted house nor in a strange bed. 
She certainly bore off Eowena and me, so that we 
reached her house in London between two and 
three next morning; we were both fast asleep, 
while she was as fresh and wakeful as though just 
strengthened for the day by ten hours of undis- 
turbed slumber. 

Lady Barres was a widow, who concealed, if 
she felt, any lingering regret for a husband she 
had lost before the birth of an only child. I did 
not know, until I became acquainted with this 
consolation of his mother, that his father had been 
killed in a steeple-chase ; and, until subsequently 
undeceived, I fancied that ' this inauspicious event 
was the reason Lady Barres had remained a widow 
two and twenty years : she having been married at 
the mature age of sixteen. 

I soon found that she loathed any kind of dis- 
turbance to her indolent dreamy life : she suffered 
3 


m 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


neither Poverty nor Passion to ruffle its calm; 
she even abjured changing the fashion of her 
dress — one very graceful upon her, but which was 
imitated by others in her own position without 
the same successful result. It consisted almost 
always of levantine, with demi-train, and under- 
petticoat of white brocaded silk peeping through 
its open front ; the hair showing the shape of the 
head, and confined by a narrow band of black 
velvet across the brow, fastened in the morning 
with onyx or agate, in the evening with a brilliant 
only. She always wore upon her wrists delicate 
bands of cambric, embroidered with aeed[ pearl so 
minutely fine that it seemed a pattern wrought out 
of the threads of the stuff ; and little pearl tassels 
drooped at her wrists, scarcely eclipsing her hands 
in fairness. 

I need scarcely say Lady Barres would put up 
with no kind of scene. I never gave her any 
trouble of this kind ; but when Eowena gave 
way to her feelings, as young ladies in society 
sometimes will, she always locked her into her 
room, went out for a drive, and did not return for 
several hours. 

Lady Barres was a person of the best ton, rather 
than thorough-bred ; which means that, though a 
prince, the cream of royalty, had once or twice 
honored her hand by touching it with his glove in 


^ 0 

* % 

MY FIRST SEASON. " 51 

a cotillion, tlie King Coplietua would scarcely have 
discerned a desiderated consort beneath her tatters, 
had she been a “beggar maid.” She was rank- 
ridden, aristocratic to the core ; the evidences of 
her “blood” being hands and feet as white as 
lilies : of which she was so openly vain that I 
have seen her sit for an hour in her dressing-room 
with her shoes and stockings off, and her feet dis- 
played on a cushion of crimson velvet, while she 
coaxed me with the eloquent gestures of her hands, 
or rallied — which was her method of scolding — in 
her soft, ineffably polished tones. She was plain 
in features, but her head was beautiful ; and her 
natural languor gave the impression of a being 
less busy by far than I found she really was. She 
was not less fitted by nature than by her courtly 
experience to introduce those ciphers of civiliza- 
tion, young ladies not yet out, to the splendid 
circumstances and serious absurdities of the circle 
she adorned ; which, perhaps, all who can should 
enter : at least in youth. 

She was much afflicted because she could not 
introduce us immediately, as we were constrained 
at present to seclude ourselves ; but she lightened 
our mourning and diversified our retirement as 
much as possible by all kinds of inventions for 
our orthodox amusement. Within this pale came 
an altar-cloth for the church upon her son’s estate ; 


52 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


such compositions are now of everj-day achieve* 
ment ; they were then exceptional, and filled the 
feminirie mind with awe. Eowena was enrap- 
tured with this work : she looked very pretty over 
her frame, though she did not get beyond a grape 
or two, a vine leaf, and half an ear of wheat; 
while I abominated the affair entirely, and helped 
her none. Lady Barres had collected the en- 
graved portraits of statesmen, authors, and church- 
men who had belonged to families of rank ; and 
these she offered me for copying in pencil. When 
informed that I could not draw, she despaired 
forthwith, until informed by Eowena that I was so 
stupid as only to care for books. Books then were 
gathered together from different libraries imtil 
they made a formidable heap ; but Lady Barres, 
knowing the names of none I wished to read, had 
only sent for those she fancied herself to have 
read : though she never read any thing at all, as 
far as I could perceive. Suddenly I bethought 
myself of the British Museum, and its treasures 
of manuscript and autograph ; these I longed to 
explore, and requested Lady Barres to permit me 
to visit the library. She took a morning to con- 
sider of this suggestion, and then gave me leave to 
go, or rather to be taken, upon conditions of her 
own. So, three or four times a week I was con- 
veyed, in her ladyship’s close carriage, with her 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


53 


factotum Burnett on tlie opposite seat, to the door 
of the British Museum, and called for again two 
hours afterward — ^being never allowed to stay 
longer, for fear the lids of my eyes should grow 
red or my expression become too intellectual. 

Burnett was female fag to Lady Barres, and en- 
joyed the privileges of an aristocratic democrat; 
she was elderly and imbecile, made first-rate coffee 
as her salient accomplishment, and drank weak tea 
as her highest recommendation: she was, how- 
ever, in the position for which she was fitted, 
which can not be said of every body. While I 
pored over books and MSS., she used to sit upon 
a camp-stool, working a coarse sort of counterfeit 
point-lace, or, when she thought I was not looking 
at her, eating plum-cake, which she brought in her 
work-bag. 

I never spent happier months than those, but 
they were necessarily selfish ; for I never saw any 
who suffered, or were poor, except in the streets, 
and if I had attempted to follow them home Lady 
Barres would have turned me into the street 
too. We laid aside our mourning on the 1st of 
February, and that day. Lady Barres drove with 
us to five-and-twenty different shops, ordering 
something from each for both of us, as presents 
from herself; for she was generous with her money, 
and never cared how it went. 


54 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


The moment we were left alone with her in 
onr colored raiment, she began to inform us of 
th^ arrangements she had made for our introduc- 
tion into society. I told her directly that I did not 
intend to be presented. She never inquired into 
any person’s motives, and therefore did not ask 
mine, but proceeded so calmly to speak on the 
subject that I fancied she had not understood me. 
When I reiterated my determination, she did not 
even look surprised, biit said with perfect sweet- 
ness that she was the best judge, and would take 
care I should be presented : on a favorable occasion 
too. Not at the same time with Eowena, because 
we should destroy each other’s effect ; as, although 
we both had the Yaux eye, the Yaux vivacity, and 
the Yaux complexion, which could stand the test 
of pearls, yet that I, being small, should make Eo- 
wena look like a giraffe"; while the latter, being of 
lofty stature, would cause me to appear insignifi- 
cant : which would not do. 

I rejected her proposal for the time, and gave my 
reasons — none worth mentioning except the first, 
that, not being a Yaux, I would not take a position 
on false pretenses. Whereupon, Lady Barres fell 
silent, and mused for the rest of the morning, shut- 
ting herself up in her room. 

The evening afterward she stole to my side upon 
the sofa, smiled upon me sweetly, laid her palm 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


55 


upon my hand, and whispered that she would 
press upon me nothing I did not like, and that I 
was always to confide in her. The next instant 
she began to talk about her son, of whom I had 
never even heard her speak before ; and from that 
time she talked about him continually, until the 
end of the week, when she announced the fact that 
he was coming to town to visit her, and would ar- 
rive the next day. 

It had struck me as remarkable that whenever 
she spoke of him it was in terms which do not 
usually clothe the feelings of maternal pride. In 
her dreamiest tones she spoke of him as ‘^poor Bar- 
res,” ^‘poor fellow,” or “ my poor dear Horace” — 
thus conveying to me the impression that this rep- 
resentative of his race was “ afflicted,” as plebeians, 
or “ peculiar,” as patricians say. I became curious 
to see the result. 

This transpired in due time. On going down 
stairs to breakfast, I found Lady Barres, who 
usually breakfasted in her dressing-room, sitting at 
a table which looked ready laid for dinner, so 
thickly was it covered with dishes and decanters. 
She addressed me immediately, kissing me on both 
my cheeks. 

I am happy to tell you,” she said, “ that Hor- 
ace is here : not in this room you see, for poor 
dear fellow, he has gone to wash his hands. He 


56 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


left Bovington at sunrise, and has only been four 
hours on the road. I tell him he must have ridden 
too hard — ^but a gentleman should excel in horse- 
manship, should not he ? ISTo person could find 
fault with him for coming as fast as possible when 
he had so much to expect.” Then — ^in a whisper 
as of a southern breeze — “ Do you know why he 
has come, poor dear fellow ? Entirely because I de- 
scribed you to him, my child! He declared it 
must be a flattering description, and has come to 
judge for himself 1” 

“How ridiculous!” I exclaimed; for I thought 
her infinitely so, since she had rallied me on 
being a beauty in the bud — a bijou beauty — 
^^Mignonne^ love, but still a belle; and preferred 
by highly refined tastes, I assure you, very fre- 
quently !” 

Had I not been curious to behold this only son 
of his mother, I should have retreated upon dis- 
covering her mood; but, almost while yet she 
spoke. Lord Barres appeared, filling the height and 
breadth of the doorway. 

This being was of immense proportions, so tall 
as not to seem stout, and so stout as not to look tall. 
He had a certain sort of symmetry, too ; the sym- 
metry one may observe in a very fat baby that has 
not a bone to show. His hands, red as roses, had 
apparently no muscle ; there being big dimples in 


MY FIEST SEASON^ 57 

the place where knuckles should be developed, and 
his wrists were marked by creases, in the super- 
abundant flesh. His complexion, originally blond, 
had yielded to a stress of sunshine, and was pro- 
fusely freckled ; his hay-colored hair was weather- 
bleached at the extremities, and a little strag- 
gling stubble composed his whiskers. A bland, 
foolish expression dwelt in his gooseberry-colored 
eyes, which would have been actually swinish but 
for their human insolence, lurking under flaxen 
lashes. 

To describe the minutiae of his breakfast, 
would suf&ciently indicate his idiosyncrasy; but 
I did not dare to watch him, because the whole 
time he ate he was staring at me as though he 
should very much prefer to eat me rather than 
what was upon the table. I noticed, however, 
that he partook of no bread, and that after de- 
vouring several kinds of meat he drank claret 
and complained of it, then finished with cheese 
and a liquor he called stingo ; which his mamma 
must have had brewed especially for him, as it 
never appeared upon the table before or after his 
visit. 

I was glad when Lady Barres arose and carried 
me off with her to the drawing-room. I walked 
to the window, trusting that she would forbear to 
remark upon what I had just seen ; however, she 
3 * 


58 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


slowly followed me, and, in her softest accents, 
said — ^‘Yon must not judge of Horace from 
what you see this morning; he is fatigued, and 
a little anxious, perhaps. Anxiety depresses him, 
as it does me.” 

I dare say,” I replied ; “ but I am more aston- 
ished at your ladyship than at his lordship.” 

“ Why so, most jpiquante of little persons ?” 

‘^That you should allow us to breakfast with 
your son ; and still more, with your refined 
habits, that you should breakfast with him your- 
self.” 

“Ah!” said Lady Barres, caressingly, “she is 
not a mother, is she ?” 

“ Had I the honor of being his mother, I would 
not breakfast with him.” '' 

“Ah! that pleases me most of all in you; — 
your perfect taste and perfect honesty together. 
And there you and Horace meet ; — with all his 
faults (which are honest ones, and even dear to a 
mother), he only requires one thing to set them 
aside and make him really perfect. His temper is 
a domestic treasure — so persuadable, so easy a 
disposition. Few gentlemen are easy, let me tell 
you; they expect so much, and yield so little. 
Men are selfish generally, my Beatrice !” 

“I quite believe that,” said L Certainly, if 
Lord Barres had an easy temper it was the sole 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


59 


maternal trait he inherited : I never succeeded in 
ruffling the surface of his mother’s temper for a 
single instant. 

Perhaps she kept him away in order to enhance 
the preciousness of his presence; — ^he certainly 
remained invisible both at luncheon and at dinner. 
In the evening, having forgotten him, I went into 
the drawing-room as usual ; again. Lady Barres 
wooed me to the window, and drew up the blind, 
“ that,” as she said, “ we might see the moon.” 
That orb was bright for London, and occupied 
me much more than did her remarks ; these were, 
as usual, hints, of which I could make nothing 
except that her son only required one thing, and 
with that addition would be perfect : was, indeed, 
all but perfect now, though too modest to display 
that superhuman attribute. Why she should 
speak to me about her son, puzzled me; but I 
am not curious except when interested, and she 
seemed rather satisfied that I did not reply. 
Presently she said, “ I must go and find my 
other bird,” — meaning Kowena; but as it was 
this bird’s habit to let L’Estrange, the maid, 
practice upon her hair for an hour every evening, 
and as Lady Barres was aware of these s'eances^ I was 
somewhat surprised to see her really quit the room. 

There were stands of forced flowers in every 
window, and the perfumes of hyacinth and daffo* 


60 MYFIRSTSEASON. 

dil sent tip incense to tlie moonligTit I gazed on ; 
when feeling I had wasted much of the only hour 
in the day allowed me to read in peace, I be- 
thought myself to draw down the blind before 
leaving the window. Before I could do so I was 
startled by an unctuous tone. Said this elfin 
voice, “ Let me do that for you, I beg I” — and Lord 
Barres approached the window. 

I have heard that the soft-headed are not soft- 
footed, and was astonished at the stealth of his 
advent until I beheld that his lordship wore slip- 
pers, which were embroidered with foxes’ heads 
upon a ground of orange color. 

I did not like to be alone with him, but did not 
choose to leave the room, lest he should imagine 
I thought about him at all. He lowered the blind 
with such impetuosity that he broke the cord, re- 
taining the tassel in his hand. Then he followed 
me to the fireplace, and looking over my head, 
stared at my reflex in the glass. Finding this out 
in a few moments, I retreated into a corner, sat 
down upon a chair, and drew to me the work- 
frame of Lady Barres. I had scarcely taken up 
the needle before his lordship turned, pushed a 
chair before him, by leaning upon its back with 
his entire weight, and sat down in front of me 
upon the other side of the frame. Then passed 
this conversation : 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


61 


‘‘How do you do that?” 

“1 can not show your lordship — it is a lady’s 
work.” 

“ Men are too awkward : do you think so ?” 

Graceful persons are always exceptions — awk- 
ward ones the rule.” 

‘^Miss Eeynolds, do you think I’m awkward? 
My mother tells me I am, because I ’m not accus- 
tomed to see ladies. I don’t like ladies generally : 
I can’t make1;hem out.” 

I might have said the same of gentlemen, but 
was forbidden by his foolish, yet insulting glance. 

“How you know, Miss Eeynolds, I mean to 
make you out. I think I have already, but it ’s 
not for me to say so ; lam not vain.” 

“ Of course not.” 

.“I always understood that clever ladies were 
not beautiful.” 

Ho answer was required. 

“ Do you like the country ?” 

“ Yery much.” 

“ Would you like to see my place down there ?” 

‘'I hnve seen as much country as I desire.” 

“ You could have new milk, syllabub, and lots 
of fruit— ladies always like fruit. Don’t you feel 
as if you should like to come? Besides — what 
ladies think the most of— I ’ve put a very hand- 
some fellow in the pulpit of my church.” 


62 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


‘‘ I do not care about sucb things as your lord- 
ship enumerates.” 

‘‘ Do you like horses ?”" 

Exceedingly.” 

“You don’t mean to tell me you can ride?” 

“ I have sometimes ridden in the park.” 

“ Then you shall ride all day — I mean as long 
as you like, you know : I ’ll give you a mare that 
will walk up stairs into your bedroom in the morn- 
ing, and drink out of your chocolate-eup.” 

“I should not like that kind of acquaintance 
with a mare.” 

Lord Barres put his hand into his pocket, and 
produced therefrom a very small pup-terrier, black 
and gloss}^, and roly-poly like its master, with a 
red morocco collar on. This animalcule he put 
down on the work frame ; I shook it off, and it 
tumbled upon the carpet. With inane deprecation 
his lordship picked it up and restored it to his 
pocket, where it forthwith began and continued a 
hideous whine. 

In a moment more ^is lordship rallied, and 
walked away to the window : I had hoped he was 
about to leave the room, but no ! — ^he returned in 
another instant with a leaf of the scented verbena 
between his fingers ; which, quite suddenly he pre- 
sented to my nose. 1 could have laughed, but 
restrained myself with scorn; and immediately 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


63 


rising, I rebuked with a glance of indignation his 
imbecile gaze ; his eyes seemed ready to start out 
of his head. Availing fnyself of his embarrass- 
ment, I pushed the frame against his great stubborn 
proportions until he was obliged to move, and 
escaped. But as soon as I was outside the door he 
tried the handle, so I locked him in, and flew to 
the dressing-room of Lady Barres. She was lying 
in a subdued light, upon the sofl;est of sofas, in a 
long white wrapping-gown. 

“ Ah I Beatrice,” she said, holding out her hand, 
“you have come to me that I may congratulate 
you. Fie, naughty child I to run away from him 
so soon I But kiss me now, and let me hear that 
all is as I wish.” 

“I don’t know what you wish,” said I, “but 
you must be pleased to come down and order your 
son to let me alone, or I will go to George this 
very night and tell him how I have been insulted.” 

I used this threat because I knew it would ter- 
riry her exceedingly. George had taken a house 
as near as possible to the houses of legislature, and 
Mr. Henry was with him there. 

“My sweet child,” she replied, “you are natu- 
rally fluttered, and very charmingly so ; but your 
naivete misleads you. No young lady considers 
that the attentions of a nobleman are insulting, 
however ardently m^ifested.” 


64 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


“ Then, if I may not call them insulting, you 
must be so good as to tell his lordship that his 
ardent manifestations are not agreeable to me.” 

“Ko, no, Beatrice! I can not tell him that. 
He has been too precipitate, poor dear fellow I and 
has allowed his frankness to prevail. But I am 
quite sure when you have seen more of him, and 
understand him better, that you will entirely esteem 
him : no feeling stronger than esteem should ever 
be permitted to enter a lady’s heart.” 

“ Then you will not order him to desist?” 

“ Certainly not: it would be to act against your 
happiness, of which you are not old enough to be* 
the guardian. You forget, Beatrice, what a proof 
of my affection it is that I wish you to favor my 
son! Immediately I ascertained your dislike to 
enter society, my maternal solicitude reminded me 
of one who has had the same objection from a 
child. Providence destines you to be his compan- 
ion ; your refinement will polish, and your intellect 
will enlighten him.” 

“Am I to meet him to-morrow morn.ing at 
breakfast ?” 

“ Certainly ; and I expect you to behave grace- 
fully, and with indulgence, toward one who de- 
serves such treatment.” 

I quitted the room and bade a servant unlock 
the door of the drawing-room, that Lord Barres 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


65 


miglit emerge if lie pleased j then locking myself 
into my own room, I sat np reading until dawn, 
by the light of my lamp. As soon as it was day 
I put on my cloak and bonnet, crept down stairs, 
undrew the bolts of the street-door myself, and 
walked to George’s house. A servant, who 
behaved properly, not appearing to notice who I 
was, showed me into a room filled with books, and 
a few pictures; among the latter was a portrait 
of Edward — the face his own, but that of an 
angel still' — ^painted from memory by Mr. Henry. 
In another instant the artist entered. I had 
expected him, for I knew he always rose with the 
sun, while my cousin was too delicate to rise very 
early. 

There are some persons to whom one may say 
a great deal on speculation, though conscious that 
one incurs the risk of misapprehension : there are 
a very few to whom one may say any thing, at 
any time, upon any subject. Mr. Henry was one 
of these, and I felt no hesitation in asking his 
advice. 

I can be of no use to you,” he said, “ for only 
a relation can interfere in this case ; but Lord Ailye 
shall be told immediately, and will know, I am sure, 
exactly what to do.” 

He left me, and remained a long time out of the 
room ; George could never perform a hasty toilet. 


MY FI 11 ST SEASON. 


and wTien lie came down at last, lie went out with. 
Mr. Henrj. During their absence a woman- 
servant brought me a charming breakfast, of which 
I consumed as much as I could, quite two hours 
before their return. Then George came in alone, 
looking brilliant with the angry blood that dyed 
his cheeks. 

“ I have settled every thing !” he exclaimed, “ I 
frightened her well by making a great noise : Hen- 
ry told me she detests a noise. And he is going 
away this morning — ^you are to remain here until 
she sends me word he is gone. I told her I was 
your natural protector, and she reminded me of 
Edward’s will ; I took care to say to her, ‘ what 
would Edward have thought of such a match for 
Beatrice?’ ” 

“ Do tell me what Mr. Henry said.” 

“ Nothing to her, of . course ; but he walked 
straight up to Lord Barres, who was sitting by 
his mother, and entered into conversation with 
him. He says he ’s not only a fool, but a wick- 
ed fool; a knavish fool; still such a fool that 
his mother did not know how to dispose of 
him, and thought to get rid of you and him at 
once.” 

I almost feared that at home there might be 
a crisis, if not a scene. No such thing: Lady 
Barres, when I returned, escorted by George, 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


67 


received and embraced me as if nothing had 
happened. The only symptom nnnsual was her 
air of extreme exhaustion, causing her to speak 
in whispers ; which lasted several days, and made 
her even less to be dreaded than usual. In fact, 
her plan was what might be called a triumphant 
failure. 

It may be mentioned that Lord Barres, after lead- 
ing a life into which no inquiry should be made, 
died of delirium tremens at the age of twenty-eight; 
having for some time previously returned to 
second childhood. His mother erected a monu- 
ment to his memory ; and for it Chantrey carved 
a bust, whose features were copied from those of 
Lady Barres. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Lady Baeees was an inveterate matchmaker. 
Most ladies of lofty rank, and women of less con- 
sequence, are so; it is a natural consequence 
of haying daughters to provide for, or sons to pro- 
vide with wives. Nor, when unmarried daughters 
are ciphers, and bachelor sons monopolize the 
attention of every member of a household, can it 
be wondered at that parents are anxious until 
reflected dignity is conferred upon the former, or 
the active well-being of the latter safely shifted 
upon the shoulders of an obedient wife. Still less 
is it matter of surprise, that relations whom one 
may be unfortunate enough to encumber should 
desire to get rid of one; albeit with regard to 
appearances, and in a handsome manner. 

The intimate friends of Lady Barres were few, 
and all were her superiors in rank, if not in fortune : 
yet she was an universal favorite ; perhaps because 
she seemed to feel for her acquaintance when they 
were sick or in trouble, while she flattered them 
when they Were well. Her grandest friend, a very 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


69 


remote relation, and the only one she ever consulted 
was a dowager duchess ; who though not young, 
was something of a beauty, rather less of a wit, 
and if selfish, sublimely so. This lady enjoyed for 
life the occupation of a magnificent mansion, in a 
part of town where, though all houses are called 
mansions, such are really rare. 

Kowena was presented by her grace, with 
tolerable ^clat; considering she had no point, 
though she was pretty. And Lady Barres in vain, 
ineffable glances, entreated me to avail myself of 
an opportunity which was in itself a first-class fate ; 
for the duchess even offered to present me : but in 
her grace’s manner I was made to feel that not 
only should I be unwontedly criticised, but ex- 
posed in helpless presumption, if I rendered myself 
ridiculous in her eyes by bending in the atmosphere 
of royalty. I refused, and irate at my refusal, the 
cause of which she understood, her grace vailed 
the semblance of irritation by inviting me to her 
next grand entertainment; an honor I could not 
have anticipated. She was of course, confident 
that I should refuse this invitation, but I accepted : 
not to annoy her, only to please myself; for I 
wished once, and only once, to enter such a scene. 

I can understand how society*— that of the great 
world — exercises over its votaries an influence so 
powerful as to have passed into a proverb ; and 


70 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


can even excuse many wlio willfully incur the 
utmost reaction of conventional excitement. For 
those whose homes are unhappy, or whose hearts 
have found no home, are driven to seek relief, if 
they can find no solace, in that masquerade where 
hearts alone are masked. This necessity is a bitter 
truth, yet can not be disguised — at the same time 
the heart that is at rest, either in another heart or 
the great and universal heart of sympathy Divine, 
sheds a brightness of its own upon those brilliant 
scenes, which are not only dreams, but lessons — 
they touch the fancy yet linger by the life. 

George was also invited to this ball, and 
went with us. He was a delightful companion ; 
high-spirited but never heedless, all chivalry yet 
not officious. Lady Barres was of course, prouder 
of accompanying him than of introducing us ; she 
therefore treated him with easy indifference, and 
with polite devotion. Bowena in the vanity of a 
fresh-fledged high-flyer, would have worn all her 
mother’s diamonds, had she been permitted ; as it 
was, she wore so many jewels that she eclipsed 
Lady Barres in that respect ; for her ladyship un- 
derstood costume, and never let ornaments clash. 
I wore no ornament, but a simple wreath and a 
plain robe ; yet I knew that though not a striking 
apparition, I was as beautiful as I desired to be. 
I make this confession in perfect sincerity, as I 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


71 


compreliend not wlij a woman wlio admires tlie 
beauty of other women should not also admire her 
own. 

This ball was imitated from those of Devon- 
shire House, and was more Arabian than Araby 
- itself. Of course I was chosen as partner by the 
least distinguished of the guests at first: these 
young sons of England pleased me much ; and it is 
sad, on looking back at them, to find how very few 
among them have fulfilled what seemed their promise. 

Having soon danced myself weary — for in 
those days I had not learned while dancing not 
to dance — retired to the central apartment of 
the circular suite, each room of which seemed to 
float in a different colored light; such was the 
artistic brilliance of the decorations. A dome 
swelled above my head where stars seemed to 
sparkle upon a violet ground, and the margin of 
the cupola was gemmed with purple lamps ; indeed 
to one who knew not how the effect was managed, 
its cause seemed magical. In the center of the dome 
hung a large white lamp, which poured down a pearly 
radiance upon a fountain underneath. This fount- 
ain played in perfume, and on approaching it I 
observed that the porcelain basin was encircled by 
horns of gilt and silver filagree, each containing a 
superb bouquet of the rarest flowers. I discovered 
|ihat these bouquets were presented by the gentle- 


72 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


men to the ladies between each dance, while those 
supposed to be faded were removed by attendants 
in superb liveries, who also replenished the horns 
as fast as they were emptied, with fresh flowers. 
Being too new to such arrangements not to marvel 
at this luxurious profusion, I was wondering what 
kind of conservatories her grace must maintain in 
town, or rifle in the country, when George 
approached me, and scattered my speculations, 

“How have you been?” he inquired, seating 
himself beside me. 

“ Enjoying myself,” I replied ; “ and you?” 

“I shall begin to enjoy myself now. To tell 
you the truth. Bice, I came to see you ; for had 
I not heard you intended to come, I should have 
gone to hear Canning to-night. I have sent 
Henry to listen for me : he always remembers, to a 
word. Have you seen Lord Mayfair, about whom 
there has been a sensation-— a light gale sprung up 
among the ladies ?” 

“ It is difficult to know one lord from another 
where they are as plentiful as acorns in autumn. 
What is this one like ?” 

“ I wanted you to see him, because Henry, who 
knows every body without seeming any body, was 
telling me about him last night. It is peculiar to 
observe how every person present is worshiping 
him.” 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


73 


should have said no person present was capa- 
ble of worshiping.” 

“ Except you and I,” answered George, laugh- 
ing. Henry says I have not escaped the age of 
exaggerated estimates, so I suppose you have not 
escaped either. This marquis is adored because, 
after ruining himself in every respect, and to the 
uttermost, he has, at the last and lowest spoke of 
Fortune’s wheel, by a sudden twist of that caprici- 
ous machine, been whirled to the top triumphantly 
in a twinkling.” 

“ Do spare me those flowers of rhetoric, and tell 
me what he has been doing.” 

‘‘You will be able to see, for you have eyes 
that can see ; and you may thank heaven for the 
same. You must know he has evinced some 
genius in getting rid, clearly and entirely, of the 
largest fortune in the country. He has brought 
with him to-night the woman he is to marry. 
Henry pronounces her West Indian: at least mu- 
latto ; but they dare not pass her off so, because 
her credentials from her own coimtry are suQh as 
would not bear investigation : however, she is enor- 
rftoiisly, unutterably rich, and therefore of course 
to be respected. He somehow dragged her in with 
him to-night, and has put her out there upon a 
sofa ; from which, I suppose, she will not move, as, 
■Resides her outlandish impracticability, she is lame.” 

4 


74 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


“ How is lie behaving to her, George?” 

“He is not behaving to her at all jnst now, 
for he is not in the same room. All the ladies 
are burning incense to him, or sounding his 
praises in the softest paeans. What does make 
ladies — charming women too — admire rakish 
men ?” 

“ As difficult a question as where pins go to,” 
I replied. I believe I am an exception. Let me 
test myself : where is he ?” 

“I’ll take you — indeed, you must not go 
without me I Do you think me very assum- 
ing ?” 

Guarded by George, I attracted much notice, 
for he was most attractive ; rare and exquisite was 
the simplicity which combined with his great per- 
sonal beauty. We paused first in the least crowd- 
ed of the rooms, where the marquis was not then 
to be found, but where the future marchioness 
might be seen, on show. 

She was swart-skinned and bristly-haired, her 
sturdy frame overlaid with shapeless fat ; uncivil- 
ized, uncouth- — a person who should never have 
been dressed in any thing but black, yet wearing 
white satin stiff with embroidery of seed pearl, 
and decked with diamonds wherever they could 
be stuck. nevertheless, if her countenance 
charmed not, it interested by its look of perfect 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


75 


tmconsciousness of the reason why she had been 
taken there, and why every person stared at 
her. 

Indeed, it seemed difficult to decide wherefore 
she had come that night; unless it were to set 
forth how integrally precious is the masculine 
personality when endowed with high rank and 
fortune, even though disencumbered to the ut- 
most of honor, worth, and wisdom. I soon saw 
this human jewel too, in order to preserve whose 
setting in society the savage simplicity of this bar- 
barian nymph had been ravished from its natural 
seclusion. 

The Marquis of Mayfair was a very young man, 
looking old, but not mature; the fatal prema- 
turity not of genius or of sorrow, but of vice, 
had exaggerated every line of his straight, hard 
forehead into that hieroglyph of retributive jus- 
tice — ^reckless despair. There was no beam of 
youthful ingenuousness in his eye, but soft in- 
satiable vanity lurked under hds whose lashes 
were blighted by the fever of shameless sin. 
Ignorant of the world, of men, of the discords or 
the harmonies of humanity, as I then was, yet I 
read in those eyes, upon that brow, and through 
the enfeebled movements of that exhausted frame, 
the traces of iniquity, in whose rites the devils 
are surpassed by the sons of men. It was a 


76 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


sight to make one ,weep. Still, not to be too 
serious, one lesson I learned that night. Hard 
is it for a man to die with an untarnished, but 
untransmitted name — ^harder for a woman to 
have no “ pretty Arthur” to meet her in the 
courts of heaven ; but hardest to own as a child 
one of those desecrated images of the Creator, in 
whom vicious tendencies, inherited or instinctive, 
have developed to self-destruction. 

Lord Mayfair seemed looking at no lady in 
particular — indeed, I should have thought him 
too far spent to examine any thing ; but it was 
evident that every lady looked at him in partic- 
ular; nor with disfavor in her glances, either. 
While men of easy conscience and dissolute con- 
duct continue to be admired by ladies — ^many in- 
nocent, all ignorant — and while women actually 
allow their admiration of these devotees of dissipa- 
tion to be perceived in their behavior, it is scarcely 
matter of surprise that men are not specially severe 
upon each other ; or that even virtuous men 
avoid a critical demeanor toward those of their 
own sex who exercise less habitual restraint than 
they do themselves. 

I had not been ten minutes in the room with 
Lord Mayfair before he asked to be introduced to 
me. A light pink hue overspread the calm coun- 
tenance of Lady Barres, when she heard his lord- 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


77 


ship address the duchess on my behalf; I did not 
understand the cause of that flush, and fancied I 
• had done something to offend my chaperone. 
Before I knew where I was, Lord Mayfair was 
presented to me formally, and I was too timid at 
the moment to outrage etiquette by refusing his 
lordship when he immediately requested me to 
dance. However, I felt that he only so distin- 
guished me — ^perhaps the only unknown individual 
present — because I was fresh, inexperienced, and 
new to the world of beauty. 

But I can not express my horror when face to 
face with him. It is no chimerical hypothesis 
which maintains there is an actual and material im- 
pression conveyed by moral darkness. Darker 
than doom — ^far darker than the night of death, is 
the reaction of depravity upon its votaries or its 
victims ; and methinks a fallen angel has fallen not 
so far as a fallen man. I had been glanced upon 
with admiration by several that evening, and my 
heart had warmed beneath their glances — ^this man 
gazed upon me with homage, and a bitter loathing 
seemed to chill my blood. 

As soon as the quadrille was over I rushed 
in among the ladies, devoutly hoping they would 
cause him to diffuse his now concentrated atten- 
tions. But of those ladies who had groveled for 
his lordship’s notice, who had displayed their fas- 


78 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


cinations to attract hinij before my insignificant 
self had been miserable enough to engage his 
attention, not a single soul came forward to assist 
me in my distress. Either their jealousy of my 
personal traits, or envy of the pains he had taken 
to convince me he appreciated them, held them 
one and all aloof; and I discovered, among other 
revelations that night, that amiabihty is as rare 
a virtue among feminine natures as chivalry among 
men. 

I walked to the edge of the fountain, disgusted 
with every person present, and with myself among 
them. Lord Mayfair followed me, and, bathing 
his faded fingers in the perfume, conversed with 
remarkable condescension: if that can be called 
conversation where one tongue rattles and the 
other remains at rest. Of course, his compliments 
were of that common currency which, like coin 
of the realm, do not become brighter by passing 
from hand to hand ; and for a specimen take the 
following: '‘Pray smile, that we may catch a 
glimpse of those pearls, the only ones you wear 
and, when I blushed, indignant, “ I like girls to be 
susceptible.” 

Now, to such a person, the pride of modesty only 
seems a natural and flattering awe of his undeserv- 
ed appreciation. Had I known so much then I 
should have forced myself to reply but my, revenge 


MY FIRST SEASON. 79 

took anotker form, wliick perhaps my impulsive 
youth may justify to society iu general. 

Amid the bouquets round the fountain were 
several white ones, which struck me as senti- 
mental-looking, though I did not observe them 
particularly: they were designed, as I afterward 
learned, for the convenience of gentlemen who 
happened to be affianced to ladies present at the 
entertainment. Not a few beside Lord Mayfair 
were entitled to such insignia that night — it was 
what might be called a very marrying season. But 
though white flowers were held in many a fairer 
hand, and worn in many a bosom, I was aware that 
the betrothed of the Marquis of Mayfair was un- 
distinguished by the token of affiance which her 
position authorized, even if her aspect did not sug- 
gest to the fancy. 

The Marquis of Ma3rfair, still looking at me, 
on a sudden took up a white bouquet. Before I 
could demonstrate to myself why those snowy 
myrtle-blossoms and roses did not wither while ' 
he grasped their stems, and while yet I wondered 
how his fiancee would accept his offering, his 
lordship presented it to me I In an instant I was 
prompted by the decision which I ought to have 
evinced before: I did not refuse the bouquet. 
But I walked with it very calmly through the 
rooms. Some of the guests looked surprised, as 


80 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


if I were crazy: I suppose I looked as I felt 
— very Highly wrought. Lady Barres tried to 
arrest me with her hand, but I broke her bracelet, 
and did not stop to pick it up. Of course, all 
the gentlemen watched me, and many crowded in 
my path : this pleased me well as there could not 
be too many near me. Lord Mayfair followed 
too; which pleased me most of all. I led him 
on behind me to a sofa in the corner, where 
sat his destined bride; then stepping a little 
backward, and waving my left hand toward 
his lordship, I presented the bouquet with my 
right hand to herself, saying, in a very distinct 
voice: “Madam, the modesty of the Marquis 
of Mayfair is such that it does not permit his 
lordship to avail himself of the privileges of his 
position. I have been commissioned by him to 
present these flowers in his name, and to express 
his conviction of his unworthiness to approach you — 
a conviction which induced him to offer this slight 
homage in the person of your very humble servant.” 

She took the flowers, smiled upon me, and 
smelled them ; but before I could turn round, the 
Marquis of Mayfair had vanished. 

I awoke next morning and found myself fash- 
ionable. For this I cared not the least : I merely 
despised my kind awhile, and felt my self-respect 
Increase. 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


81 


However, that morning a variety of cards were 
left at our house, and Lady Barres had a surfeit 
of callers, who entranced her soul by succeeding 
each other until the very moment of dinner. She 
was in such ecstacy, that she even forgave me for 
not coming down stairs to see any body who did 
me the honor to inquire after me. Perhaps, 
also, she was afraid I might “ tamper with Provi- 
dence ” (as she profanely characterized every thing 
she contrived to bring about) if I were present 
to contradict the assertions or suppositions of her 
visitors ; which, for my sake, she did not contra- 
dict, though she dared not confirm them posi- 
tively. Of course, it was assumed by those to 
whom I had not been introduced by name, that 
I was at least of equal rank with him whom I had 
exposed; and when the name of Keynolds re- 
vealed the fact that I had no rank at all, I was 
conjectured to be immeasurably rich ; as rich as 
the woman Lord Mayfair was going to marry. 
This last impression endured some time, and it was 
long before I found out that it had originated in 
the circumstance of Lady Barres not denying that 
I was dowered. 

She merely blamed me blandly, when we were 
left alone together, for not seeing the visitors, and 
not “playing my cards well” the night before. 
“You know,” she said, in her bland, tormenting 
4 * 


82 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


tones, tliat it was the most utter chance in the 
world which prevented your being blackballed. 
Had not Lord Mayfair (with natural reserve to- 
ward one so greatly his inferior in breeding) a 
litth too obviously neglected his fiancee^ this esca- 
pade would have been terrible : monstrous ill taste 
in you, Beatrice. Even now it is my duty to tell 
you, most trying little person that you are, such 
an indiscretion will only pass at the first blush of 
your first season.” 

“ I do not wish your ladyship to defend me,” I 
replied. little too obviously neglected,’ in- 

deed ! I can assure you that, if I did not perceive 
she must be fitted for him in some respects, or else 
she would have spumed him with the contempt 
which an honest fish- woman would feel — say, if 
I did not see this, I would go to her and persuade 
her to disappoint him, even now.” 

“ Eeally, Beatrice, you must be locked up with 
your books till you are tame. Your underbred 
excitability exhausts me ; and, though I bear your 
eccentricity for poor dear Edward’s sake, it is my 
duty not to expose others to it.” 

^‘Poor dear Edward, indeed I what would he 
have said. Lady Barres, to my Lord Ma3^air ?” 

“Ah! Beatrice, he was too good for this world: 
and you know it is hard for a rich man to enter 
the kingdom of Heaven.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


83 


From what George tells me, then, Lord May- 
fair is nearer heaven than I fancied, for he is as 
poor as a poor-box emptied of its last mite.” 

“Beatrice, you are profane. With your relig- 
ious education — ” 

“ Madam, do you not profane, then, the words 
of truth by quoting them in honor of that rich 
man, as you call him. As for poor Edward, I 
acknowledge he was good; but had he been 
better he would not have feared to enter the world. 
He would then have seen that hard as it is for 
the rich to get to Heaven, it is also hard for the 
poor: their temptations are greater, and they suffer 
more on earth.” 

“Why, Beatrice, you are a little democrat! 
worse than Lord Ailye and that outlandish friend 
of his. Eeally, at your age, it is most decidedly 
your duty to consult me. Edward would have 
told you that.” 

“As for my eccentricity, it shall never again 
annoy your ladyship : I do not find that fashion- 
able society agrees with me, nor I with it. As for 
my democracy, you know the name of Eeynolds 
stamps me plebeian, and as my inaptitude stands 
confessed — can not help it.” 

I hoped, after this, her ladyship would give me 
up ; but there were still a few trials of strength 
between us. 


84 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


The Marquis of Mayfair married his sable heir- 
ess about a month afterward. At the end of two 
years they were so very uncomfortable together 
that they wished to separate ; but he had spent so 
much of her money that they could not pay for a 
divorce. She died from those effects of extreme 
civilization called “ a broken heart and his lord- 
ship went to Paris, where as much as was left of 
him was one day discovered behind the grille of 
the Morgue, by a dark-souled colleague. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


One Sunday morning that Lent, Lady Barres 
issued forth from her dressing-room with an air of 
anticipation, holding in her hand a folded paper. 

I am not strong enough to go to church this 
morning,” she said to me, and 1 very much re- 
gret it, for here is a note from Lady Smirke to tell 
me her nephew, Mr. Page, is going to preach-at St. 
J * * * * ’s Church.” 

Who had not, in those particular days, heard of 
the Keverend Paston Page ? He was the idol of 
the great religious world; and if his humbler 
brethren did not look up to him, their non-appreci* 
ation was attributed to that envy which holds, 
alas ! even among certain of the priesthood. 
However, it was certain he was generally pop- 
ular ; and, in those days, celebrity was not so 
easily attainable as it has become since the opening 
of the Crystal Palace. 

The Eeverend Paston Page was peculiarly gift- 
ed, both by grace and nature. I had heard of his 
success at the university, of his wonderful dra- 


86 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


matic talents, wMcli lie had consecrated to the 
service of the Church, and of his remarkable 
beauty of person ; which had assumed an almost 
sacred aspect since he had entered upon the duties 
of his profession. But I had never heard him 
preach yet. 

You must go and hear him for me, Beatrice,’’ 
Lady Barres went on ; I know you like clergy- 
men.” 

Lady Barres always took it for granted, when 
she asked you to do any thing, that you would 
particularly like to do it, whether you had ever 
expressed an opinion upon the subject or not. 
Thus she avoided the appearance of selfishness, 
however clearly she betrayed the reality of that 
prevailing peccadillo. I was, however, curious to 
see and hear the gentleman in question, because 
he was said to have great power over persons of 
my own sex, and to influence them with almost 
magical effect. 

I said I would certainly go. Then,” added 
her ladyship, “ you must bring me the text, and 
heads of the sermon, for you have such a fine 
memory, Beatrice. Savage shall fee the pew- 
opener, and get you a good seat ; for the church 
will of course be crowded, and though Lady 
Blarney will not be there this windy day, I would 
not have you take one of her seats uninvited.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


87 


Savage was a towering footman with straw- 
colored eyelashes, much prized by Lady Barres 
because he never mispronounced a name, and 
enunciated each with an expression exactly pro- 
portioned to the rank of its possessor. The names 
of commoners he uttered beneath his breath, as 
though he were ashamed, while he elocutionized 
a ducal style with such sonorous declamation 
that the lusters in the drawing-room vibrated. I 
detested Savage, and he hated me for my name 
of Eeynolds, and always contrived, when he men- 
tioned it, to convey by his tone and manner an 
association of some mean lodging over a shop in a 
low neighborhood. 

On coming down stairs dressed for church I 
found that Bowena had determined to go also ; 
though, as she never made up her mind at the 
right time, she was not dressed, and I had to wait. 
Lady Barres’ hint about the seat had been found- 
ed upon the fact of her not worshiping at St. 
J * * * * ’s church, but at a smaller and more ex- 
clusive shrine, where there was no fuss, and no 
smells, and where only the great knelt beside the 
royalty. 

The church was crowded ; being late, we could 
scarcely get inside the door, and at first not a foot 
beyond it, for matrons and maidens of every age, 
size, and grade, thronged the aisles to suffocation. 


88 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


Some sat on chairs or stools, but many stood ; 
though, strange to say, the pews were any thing 
but full. Many of the pews held a sohtary plume 
(my girlhood was in the reign of feathers), others 
contained only two or three persons intrenched in 
comfort, and undisturbed by the discomfort of 
those who had no seats, and to whom none were 
offered. 

The heat and press would soon have sent me , 
back into the street, had I not discerned George, 
with Mr. Henry, immediately under the pulpit. I 
knew George would come to our rescue, and he 
did ; for, taking plenty of time, say several min- 
utes, to get down the aisle, he reached us, and con- 
trived, by the same slow stages, to conduct us to 
the place he had occupied at first. 

I sat upon the steps of the reading-desk awhile, 
but on my standing up for a moment to let the 
Header pass me, other ladies politely glided into 
my place and engrossed all the room, quite up to 
the reading-desk door. George and I both kept 
our prayer-books in our pockets, but Eowena, who 
had brought with her one of those we had been 
accustomed to use at Ashleigh, with the coronet 
upon the cover, carried hers in her hand and held 
it before her eyes. She had not so displayed it a 
minute, I am sure, before a gentleman, who had 
a long pew entirely to himself, opened the door 


MY FIRST SEASON. 89 

and beckoned ber in, with a bow that expressed 
adoration of aristocracy. She honored him, of 
course, by entering; but he did not know we 
belonged to her, and did not offer either of us a 
seat, so we remained standing outside the door.' 

The Eeverend Paston Page had one of those 
figures which are described as being above the 
middle height, but perfectly symmetrical — ^propor- 
tions admired so much by small men of delicate 
frame, who would be glad to change places with 
such heroes ; not knowing how much more agree- 
able they themselves are than those tall, handsome 
persons. As the preacher swept up the pulpit 
steps, there was perfume as of incense, and a rustle 
through the church; but when his voice was 
audible, in its first subdued tones, you might have 
heard a pin fall. His hair was arranged according 
to approved poetic models, over one of those re- 
treating foreheads which are called classical, but 
which are merely Komanesque. His complexion 
was brilliant, and his eyes were that garish blue 
which attracts without arresting : they were vain 
eyes, that could weep at will, and do great effect 
with tears. His voice was sonorous, without depth, 
and loud, without tone ; his elocution was studied 
and professional ; his oratory was rhetorical, and 
overmastered suspicion of his orthodoxy : in short, 
he supplied his hearers with that kind of amuse- 


90 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


ment wliicli, if blent with instruction, is — despite 
the proverb — generally found to predominate over 
the latter. The sermon he preached was too little 
like the model for all sermons ; a model which but 
few, in these latter days, approach. Its applica- 
cation — a corybantic appeal on behalf of a fashion- 
able charity — did not come home to me ; for the 
style of his discourse too strongly reminded me of 
otheii fashionable modes of raising funds and re- 
plenishing treasuries. It struck me as most 
probable that Mr. Page would have excited and 
impressed his audience quite as much from the 
stage or the rostrum, as from the pulpit. 

After service, Gleorge whispered to me that he 
should escort us home. It was not easy to get 
out of church, for the ladies all lingered to see 
the last of the preacher, and in due course the 
gentlemen had to wait for them. The phenom- 
enon presented by the emptying of a very aristo- 
cratic temple after morning service — ^for afternoon 
is dull — I had not beheld before, as I usually 
attended the chapel of one of the inns of court 
with George, where preached a priest whose earnest 
discourses taught and consoled me. Thus^ it was 
a new impression which I received of the powdered 
footmen, drawn up in parti-colored phalanx just 
outside the church, insolently grimacing among 
themselves, and who stalked forth from their ranks 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


91 


as the heads of their houses appeared in the porch, 
and with preternatural solemnity approached to 
take the books and bear them to the carriages be- 
yond the gates. 

We got out as fast as we could, that is after a 
very long time, and Mr. Henry then departed, 
leaving us with George. However we did not 
escape even then, for Lady Smirke — ^the person 
I most dreaded, as she always asked you to 
dinner on Sunday, because she was that day 
duller than any other day — was lying in wait in 
her carriage by the side of the footway, and saw 
us directly. She stretched her hand out of the 
window, and when, in reply to her offer to carry 
us home, I suggested we had not fifty yards to 
walk, she went on, “ Oh, I don’t mean to your 
home-— to mine ; and come you must and shall. 
I have great pleasure in saying that my nephew 
will join us, and I must introduce him to my two 
young friends.” 

I should have refused, but George accepted 
the invitation — men are always curious about one 
another — and before we could get into the 
carriage, Mr. Page appeared, minus the canonicals, 
and assisted us up the step, while George and he 
followed. All the way home he put his hand to 
his forehead, stroked back his curls, gave his 
cravat a delicate twist or sighed as if too ex- 


92 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


hausted to speak; while we, who knew Lady 
Smirke hated talking in a carriage because of the 
noise, held our tongues too. Her ladyship lived 
at Kensington, so we had a long drive, during 
which Mr. Page disturbed me by staring at me 
very decidedly, all the while he paid himself the 
little attentions I have described. When we 
reached the house there was luncheon, and Mr. 
Page, after swallowing an egg which his aunt broke 
for him in a china cup, drank a great many glass- 
es of wine, and ate an ordinary dinner. After 
luncheon I hoped that we should be permitted to 
retire, but Mr. Page announced his wish to at- 
tend the afternoon service at the Temple church, 
and took it for granted that the ladies would like 
to accompany him. Eowena went, and George of 
course with her, but I refused, and had the pain of 
discovering, as Mr. Page sulkily strode after his 
companions, that a clergyman of high family can 
look cross. 

When the carriage returned with the party, Mr. 
Page looked cross still, but though he expressed 
intense disappointment at the choral service, and 
brotherly contempt for the sermon he had heard, 
he grew amiable as dinner advanced, and ate as 
one half starved, imploring every person to do 
the same. 

When we went into the drawing-room I found 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


93 


tliat it was too late to go to churcli again, and too 
early for tlie prayers wliicli, in compliment to lier 
nephew, Lady Smirke was accustomed to have con- 
ducted by him when he was there. Her ladyship 
being established upon a sofa, and her nephew, as I 
believed, also seated by her side, Eowena being 
asleep on another sofa, and George out of the room, 
I retreated to the remotest corner, and carrying a 
lamp there, began to read. In a few minutes I was 
disturbed, though I ought not so to express my sen- 
sations, by the voice of Mr. Page. 

“ I do not know whether I shall be pardoned if 
I presume upon my office to say a few words to 
Miss Eeynolds.” 

The word office” was ominous ; but I bowed, 
and he went on, looking down upon me with sin- 
gular benignity, considering the short term of our 
acquaintanceship. 

“I observed — forgive me,” he said, with ex- 
treme tenderness of manner, evidently afraid to 
wound my feelings; “that you do not use a 
prayer-book in the service of our church. It is 
not for me to object on conventional grounds, 
the grounds of the respect which is due to my 
office; but I would remind one whose example 
is of the greatest consequence, that she may in- 
jure the cause of religion by even an apparent in- 
consistency. Do you not belong to the Church of 


94 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


England — ^the purest and the safest, indeed the only 
church?” 

“ It is highly respectable, and I suppose, that im- 
plies the purity and safety of its members,” I replied. 

“ I did not expect to hear light words from your 
lips.” 

‘^My meaning is not light,” I answered; “but 
I have been used to a country congregation, and 
was not prepared to see people behave in church 
as they would do at an opera, instead of merging 
rank and caste in the reflection that all who live 
need to pray, and pray alike.” 

“ I forgive you,” he said, solemnly, as though he 
were the church impersonate. “ Then it was not 
because you object to the service that you held no 
book.” 

“I love that service dearly— it is almost divine ; 
but I prefer listening, to following it in a book.” 

“But such an example as yours — ^to the poor — 
to the rich who are inattentive.” 

“ There were not many poor to profit by my ex- 
ample. And nobody ought to look about in church : 
if they did not they would not see their neighbors’ 
behavior.” 

“ They ought not, but alas I they do. They even 
look at the preacher, when they should be apply- 
ing his words inwardly: it is his greatest trial and 
temptation.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


95 


I smiled, and covered my eyes with my book. 
Perhaps he thought that I was “applying his 
words inwardly:” at all events he said no more 
then. 

George had come up to me to say good-night : 
he was going home. Lady Smirke made us stay 
to sleep at her house; because it rained, as she 
pretended, but in reality Because she hated getting 
out her carriage for any person except herself. 
George promised to let Lady Barres know, and 
that we should be sent for early next day. Ko- 
wena and I had separate rooms, immense regions 
of dreariness worthy of the flats of Kensington. 
Eowena was allowed to go to bed, but Lady 
Smirke kept me up long after her nephew had 
conducted prayers, and I was obliged to endure ‘ 
his presence ; which was not agreeable, as he had, 
during family service, pointedly preached at me 
and prayed for me ! He dilated upon example, re- 
sponsibility and privileges ; looking at me even 
while he knelt. 

Lady Smirke was a vulgar woman, with an un- 
known ancestry; she had a considerable fortune, 
and had married into a poor high family, and her 
strong point was money. She considered it a 
good thing that her lord liked continental society, 
although the gratification of his foreign tastes in- 
volved frequent separation ; as she thought gaming . 


96 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


quite right and rational in Paris, though wicked 
and foolish in London. She did not play herself 
but some people said she got tipsy now and 
then. I know that she had a very high color; 
and, though she set up for being very religious 
she would sometimes throw a lamp, an inkstand, 
or a poker at her men-servants, and never got a 
maid to stay with her more than a month. She 
had never seen me until I gave away Lord May- 
fair’s bouquet at the ball, and afterward she had 
loaded me with attentions up to the present mo- 
ment. I was not, of course, aware that she was 
one of those whom Lady Barres had failed to 
undeceive about my possessing a fortune; and 
therefore, I was ignorant of her drift when she 
asked me how long it was since my papa’s death, 
how soon I should be of age, and whether I did 
not feel being ‘^screwed a little,” as all young 
ladies in my situation must be, until one and twenty. 
At last I yawned so fearfully that she let me go to 
bed, and the next morning I awoke with the dis- 
agreeable impression that Mr. Page was yet under 
the same roof. 

He haunted me at breakfast, and took away my ' 
appetite. We had prayers afterward, at which 
all the household assembled to hear about exam- 
ples — ^the privileges of the rich in setting, and 
of the poor in following, them, I lingered about 

. d 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


97 


upon the staircase, hoping Lady Banes would 
send for us ; but as Mr. Page came out upon the 
landing, and the men in the hall saw him look 
down at me, I shut myself into the room Lady 
Smirke called a library, where there were two 
small chiffonieres filled with books, one with reli- 
gious classics, and the other with aU the Waverley 
novels and Dr. Johnson’s works. I had taken up 
a life of Wesley and opened it upon the ghost-story, 
when Mr. Page entered; he pretended to start 
back, yet after all advanced and came and bent 
over me again. A few slight coughs succeeded, 
and then he put — or rather forced — into my hand 
a very magnificent book bound in red velvet with 
gilt clasps and edges, having a little plate on the 
outside which had no name on it as yet. 

“ What is this ?” I inquired : he made no reply. 
I opened it ; it was the book of Common Prayer, 
edited by the Eeverend Paston Page, profusely 
illustrated with engravings from pictures by the old 
masters, with little bits of abbeys and cathedrals 
woven into the initial letters ; very pretty and 
very ornate : but it frightened me, for I guessed it 
was a present. “I am very much obliged to you,” 

[ said, “ but I have a prayer-book, and will not de- 
prive you of this one.” 

“You must — ^you will keep it I” he urged, laying 
his hand upon inline as it held the book. “ I have 
5 

^ 


98 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


endeavored to adapt its appearance to your own— - 
your artistic taste, your position — ^your — 

‘‘ I do not quite understand this,” I replied. “ I 
never receive presents except from my relations ; I 
do not think it expedient.” 

“I can imagine that one with your delicacy of 
sentiment would object, in most cases; and I ad- 
mire such a decision on your part : it is not usual 
with those who are richly endowed by Providence 
— ^they want more the more they have. I will be- 
lieve, despite the thoughtlessness of youth and 
beauty, that you are under a divine impulse : you 
would consecrate your gifts to him who bestowed 
them.” 

“I am entirely at a loss to comprehend your 
meaning ; you will perhaps explain it ?” 

If you will give me leave to do so ; but where 
so deep an interest is felt it is not easy — ^particularly 
when, entirely free from secondary motives — others 
might misconstrue. Excuse me, sweet young lady, 
lily of the Lord’s garden I — ^You are very rich.” 

“Oh, it is quite clear to me that there has 
been a mistake, and I hasten to correct it I I have 
no fortune : scarcely enough to live on, if I lived 
alone ; and had it not been for my cousin, the late 
Lord Ailye’s kindness, I might have been compelled 
even to work for bread.” 

“Impossible, impossible!” he faltered; and 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


99 


pushed away his chair. In a constrained and 
haughty voice he added, after a pause during 
which I resumed my reading again, “ I hope that 
book will be of use to you,” — meaning not the 
book I read, but the one he had bestowed. I took 
up the latter, clasped it, and returned it to his hand 
with a bow. 

I never receive presents,” I said, “as I had the 
pleasure of telling you. This will perhaps serve 
your purpose when you find the person you are 
seeking, for whom you mistook me.” 

I fancy he found her soon, for I met him walk- 
ing with a lady a few months afterward ; a lady 
whose plain face and velvet bonnet, dowdy air and 
handsome dress, assured me that she was rich: 
rich enough to satisfy the Eeverend Paston Page, 
it was of course impossible for her, or any one else, 
to be. 


CHAPTER IX. 


In these days, when ladies sit with their backs 
to the horses fronting gentlemen, and gentlemen 
smoke cigars in private carriages with ladies — as 
may be seen by any unbeliever on the road to the 
heights of Sydenham — it is refreshing to invoke 
Mnemosyne in the person of what in very modem 
history is called a gentleman of the old school. 

Although it was seldom I accompanied Lady 
Barres when she took Rowena into pubhc, I was 
of course obliged to dine with her guests, when 
she had any. It was at her first dinner that sea- 
son I met the Earl of ISTormanville, a gallant and 
chivalrous soldier, who had distinguished himself 
in the European struggle theii lately ended, and 
had returned from Waterloo with every honor but 
a wound. Since the peace he had succeeded his 
father, written an autobiography of military expe- 
rience, acquired influence in the senate as one who 
whipped up lively speeches upon dreary questions, 
and received much attention from ladies on account 
of his tragical domestic fate ; for he had married, 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


101 


and lost Ids countess at the same time with his 
.heir. 

He certainly was a combination of the character- 
istics which charm in refined society; his person 
was soldierly and grand, with fierce blue eyes, but 
a very gentle manner ; he was not only very intelli- 
gent, but well informed on a great variety of sub- 
jects, and his faith was orthodox ; he talked sens- 
ibly, and sometimes so as to fascinate even me. 
He was most deferential and delicate, yet easy, in 
his deportment toward our sex ; and as I recall his 
chivalrous devotion, the vision of the past is fairer 
than the impression of the present. Then gentle- 
men loved to wait on ladies, even when uninfluenced 
by personal preference : woman was worshipful in 
their eyes. Then they really felt pleasure in per- 
forming those little offices which invest society 
with sentiment, and they actually esteemed it a 
privilege to anticipate the wants of women. In 
these days propriety — for true politeness is apocry- 
phal as the Dodo — is beaten into boys by dancing- 
masters, to be dragged out of them — ^not by men — 
but, strange truth! by women; who have actually 
learned to adapt themselves to the altered manners 
of the masculine sex. There are bright exceptions, 
but in this instance, as in too many others, the 
exceptions prove the rule. 

However, to the point. Lord Hormanville was 


102 


MY F IBST SEASON. 


the first gentleman whose conversation pleased 
me, among Lady Barres’s friends ; and he was also 
the only person she did not like me to talk to. I 
could not make this out ; as he had been pleased to 
notice me, and had amused me very much during 
dinner and afterward in the drawing-room. I 
thought my chaperone would have been gratified 
at my good fortune ; but she looked at me as 
though she wished I were in heaven — or at least in 
bed. She had an assembly, however, that night, 
and thus it happened that she could not devote 
herself so entirely to Lord Normanville as to draw 
him away from my side. For my part, I felt quite 
sure that his lordship only talked to me because I 
was acquainted with the literature of several lan- 
guages, and had a liking for Spanish, which he de- 
lighted in. He recited to me some of the poetry 
in that tongue, which only an accomplished trav- 
eler could make his own ; and I talked to him in 
that 'fearless fashion, which an earnest, innocent 
girl of eighteen naturally adopts toward one who 
has gray hair, even if that hair crowns a perfectly 
handsome countenance. But Lady Barres did not 
rally me about Lord Hormanville, as she had done 
about others who had scarcely noticed me. 

Next day his lordship called, but only saw Lady 
Barres. The next day I again heard his persuasive 
voice, as I was passing the drawing-room door. 


MY FIKST SEASON. 103 

About an hour afterward I went into tbe drawing- 
room, and found no person there ; but a heap of 
new Spanish books lay upon the table. While I 
was turning them over, Lady Barres came in, and 
told me Lord Normanville had brought them for 
her to read, as she had told him she was very fond 
of Spanish. 

I quite forgot to mention that Lord Normanville 
had a half-brother, a member of Parliament for a 
borough, whom he had brought with him to dinner. 
Lady Barres had talked about this half-brother 
and told us he had a large fortune from his mother, 
who was his father’s second wife. He was a tall 
young man, with a tailor’s block of a figure, the 
face of a doll, and the feet of a Chinese; and he 
had flirted to the best of his feeble ability with 
Eowena : who could flirt with any body^ except a 
man of sense. This acquaintance, also, had a re- 
sult of its own. 

The day after I saw the Spanish books, Lady 
Barres sat writing, and occasionally looking out 
of the window. She wrote notes every day, but 
seldom a letter ; this was a letter, and a long one, 
and it had not gone by post, either: she sent 
it somewhere by Savage, whom usually she never 
spared off the staircase ; but who was absent this 
day when, again. Lord Hormanville called. Lady 
Barres sent word he was to be shown into the 


104 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


library; sbe went there to him, and they were 
closeted together more than an hour. In the 
evening her ladyship was fatigued, drank coffee 
in bed, and did not send for us. I was, therefore, 
astonished to see her down to breakfast next 
morning, seeming very well and cheerful. 

In the middle of the morning, before calling 
hours, she sent for me into her own boudoir; a 
cabinet of dainty upholstery which I had never 
been permitted to enter. She was lying upon the 
sofa, and by her, on one of the fragile chairs, sat 
a woman, who looked as if she would break it 
down with her weight. I could only tbink of 
one of those nurses who are characterized by the 
lunar period of their ministrations. But Lady 
Barres introduced me to her as to a very dear old 
friend; though she was dressed like a bathing- 
guide on a Sunday evening, and from her greet- 
ing I could perceive she was quite innocent of 
education and refined breeding. I liked her, after 
five minutes’ acquaintance. Her face was literally 
moist with benevolence; and her hearty, genial, 
good-nature made my heart warm to its center. 
She squeezed my hand nearly off, and nodded at 
me with a knowing frankness that made me feel 
as though she had seen me in my cradle. Thus, 
though much surprised, I was not annoyed, 
when she asked me, with very little ceremony, 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


105 


wlietlier I would come and pay her a visit in the 
country. A little bird, she remarked, had told 
her what a sweet young lady I was, and how 
clever. She would not say that her girls were 
clever, but her — 

Here Lady Barres silenced her with a serene 
look, and, waving her hand at me, went on — 
'^The fact is, my dear Beatrice, I had prepared 
for you this little pleasant surprise. Your looks 
have pained me, love, lately : you have grown so 
pale. A little country air — a little repose — and 
the acquaintance of a charming family of dear 
young people — these are my remedies, and those 
of the physician I have consulted about j^our 
health. You will return to me revived and 
braced, and fit for London life, at the height of 
the season. I did wrong to keep you here last 
autumn in your mourning ; but now there is noth- 
ing to prevent your visiting and making friends of 
your own. You must not, however, monopolize 
her too long, my dear Mrs. Thynne.” 

I was thunderstruck ; but lightning comes with 
thunder, and I felt an idea flash upon me that 
Lady Barres wanted me out of the way. For an 
instant I thought of Edward, who in his most 
puritanic moods had made me feel that he cher- 
ished me. I remembered more dimly that father 
who had kept me as the apple of his eye. These 
5 * 


106 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


reminiscences I cruslied down to tlie very bottom 
of my heart, and was about to speak, but Lady 
Barres went on : — “ And as for your bouquet of 
rosebuds” — ^tbis flower of expression, I presumed, 
meant the daughters who were not clever — “my 
little blue sock here will contrast with them very 
prettily.” It struck me that this was an imperfect 
figure of speech ; however, it did not signify to 
her ladyship’s intimate friend, who herself spoke 
imperfect grammar. But she was perfect in sin- 
cerity ; and I knew, therefore, that it was her 
wish, when she expressed it, that I should visit 
her, and even go with her that morning, when she 
returned to her house at Eichmond. 

I had many times that March longed to hear 
the wind in another key than that in which it 
howls among London chimneys, and as I have 
always retained the fancy to gather my own 
fiowers, though Eichmond was not quite “the 
country,” it was an agreeable change to me. An- 
ticipating my dislike of the process of packing. 
Lady Barres, with her wonted amiable placidity, 
told me to go as I was, and that she would send my 
wardrobe next day. I bade adieu to Eowena, who 
was, as usual, having dresses fitted; and as she 
kissed me, I perceived that she also was glad to 
get rid of me. 

In the carriage — d, large old-fashioned family 


MY FIRST season". 


107 


coach — ^the good gossip made me very comfort- 
able, though she chattered all the way. She was 
one of those persons — always either most excellent 
or utterly worthless — to whom secrets are as sand 
to a sieve. Excellent, however, I found her ; and 
most amusing was her story, as far as I heard it. 

You see, my dear,” she said, “ I felt for you, 
knowing the position you were in, and hearing 
through my lady that she had you on hand, and 
that you were so particular about gentlemen, and 
were in the way of the other — ^the tall one with 
the other name. Now that Miss Yaux” — meaning, 
as I gathered, Kowena — “she ’s a slender slip of a 
thing they call pretty, but not after my taste. 
Them eyes that never look you in the face I never 
took to — ^bold as the brassiest that stare behind 
them, I say they are. Give me eyes that look full 
even while they ’re blushing — ^the cheeks I mean. 
So — where was I? — oh I when my Lady Barres 
wrote me, and sent it by the footman, I turned all 
over; for I thought of course she was dead or 
dying, and worrying about the trifle I lent her 
when she went to the new square at the West 
— ^the price of them houses and the little they 
pay, in the way of show I mean. — ^Where was 1 ? 
Oh ! about her writing to me. I saw it was a lilac 
seal, and that eased me ; but when I opened it, it 
was a good while before I could make out what 


108 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


she wanted. I thought it was a modest way of 
putting — ^more money; and she should have had 
it, sweet pretty creature, for her ladyship can’t 
keep her affairs straight : downright fashionables, 
as they tell me, never do. But, la! my dear, 
when I read about you, and how you turned the 
gentlemen’s heads with your bright eyes and your 
sharp tongue; and how you didn’t care about 
money or looks, but only for your books ; and 
how pale you got sitting over them in that smoky 
house, I says to Dull, my eldest girl, says I, ‘ I ’ll 
go and see my lady, and ask her if she ’ll let that 
little thing come and stop with us a bit — ^for we 
make every body comfortable, I will say, down to 
the cat.’ And Dull and all of them said, ‘ Oh do 
fetch her, for she ’ll bring all the fashions.’ Yery 
natural they should think of that — ^for, my dear, 
though innocent as the babe I ’m sure I was when 
I married, it was me pulled down the girls : though 
they ’ve had the best of educations, girls never get 
over what their mother is. You see, my dear, 
my poor creature” — found she always recalled 
her husband so — “ my poor creature married me 
in consequence of the law-suit that, after all, ended 
in favor of his cousin — a right-down regular scamp 
he, and now he my-lords it. I hear he lent the 
government money in the late Mr. Pitt’s time, and 
they could n’t pay him back, so they were obliged 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


109 


to give him a title. And I ’m not sorry his son 
shuts out my son, for them peers they never seem 
to me to have much fun — I mean those that sit in 
Parhament — for they’re obliged to be in town the 
stifling part of the year, and they can’t even wear 
their crowns whenever they please, except on their 
coaches. Where was I before that? — oh I my 
poor creature, he was brought up with great ex- 
pectations — Eton expenses and the college where 
the young peers go — and he never got into debt 
neither; but after the law-suit, staggered out of 
court, and wandered about in the city — no place 
for him — ^when, by the leadings of Providence, it 
seems to me, he sets down on our doorstep and 
there faints away. 

“ Father was in the shop, and the shop-boy, who 
was putting up the shutters, runs in and tells him 
a fine gentleman is dropped down dead. Father 
brought him in, thinking him dead as sure as he 
was ahve, and he calls out to me for warm wine ; 
but I never waited to warm it ; I forces cold ; 
brandy (if you can call brandy ever cold) down • 
his throat, and he come to. I remember how I 
watched him, and nursed him, and would n’t let 
him feed himself with his white hands ; but I never 
once thought of such a thing as marrying the like 
of him, no more than the King, God bless him ! 
It was funny enough that father had talked of re- 


110 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


tiring to Holloway a good bit — for be made mints 
of money, honestly, during the war — ^the begin- 
ning of the war, I mean — ^by fitting out the ships 
with provisions. He kept on in the old house 
longer than he would have, because of me. I liked 
the city, and I do now; but the air is bad for 
girls; and besides, if I took them to the city, 
they ’d want to live west, and that would be ruin- 
ing their prospects, situated as I am, for no body 
would visit me. But I was saying about my poor 
creature. He laid open his whole mind to me, and 
when he told me he had n’t a pound to begin life 
with over again, I tried to put him up to propos- 
ing, by sitting alone in the room with him, and 
showing him by my manners I would be glad to 
serve him. And if he had not proposed, I would 
have proposed to him ; for I knew I could make 
him comfortable, and he was no more fit to work 
for his living than I am to sit on the throne. Poor 
father was very pleased that I should marry a gen- 
tleman, and left every thing to him as much as 
me, heartily. And when fe,ther died, I told my 
poor creature he should build a house after his 
fancy ; and he chose by the river up Eichmond 
way, and there all the children were born. 

“ People was just getting to notice them as a fine 
family, when they had to go into mourning, and 
me too, my dear I And, my dear, I hope you ’ll 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


Ill 


not think me remiss toward his memory that I 
don’t wear my weeds now, and even gave np silk ; 
but I was afraid of making the girls dull; and 
Thynne, that ’s my son, is what people of edication 
call genius, and it depressed him to see me in 
black — so you ’ll excuse it.” 

I could, indeed, and any thing else from so cor- 
dial a companion. At last we stopped at the gates 
of her very pretty house, with its gardens sloping 
to the river, swans queening it upon the stream, 
and peacocks upon the shore ; its large green-house 
and brilhant beds of flowers, and, what pleased 
me most of all, the pleasure-boat moored close to 
the lawn, among the sedge and leaves of water- 
lilies. A party of fine-looking young women ran 
out, less their bonnets, to meet us, and each one 
in succession imprinted a resolute kiss upon my 
cheek ; then they hugged their mother as though 
she had been gone a year, and then dragged me 
into a dining-room, where every thing that can be 
eaten at any meal whatever was arranged upon the 
table at once. I certainly never saw a family who 
so completely made the most of life’s comforts and 
the least of its cares ; with one exception among 
them : but this melancholy prodigy was at college 
when I arrived, though expected in a week for 
the Easter vacation, as a chorus of tongues pro- 
claimed. 


112 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


That week brought me a delicious store of hy- 
giene. The air suited me, and we were out all day, 
until early dark set in, riding and driving, or, best 
of all, boating. 

As for the girls, my new companions, it was the 
pride and boast of their mother that they could 
each do something, and something different each 
from each. It charmed her that they should betray 
their abilities, having herself, as she said, had no 
more education than the parrot (a large, green one, 
and the only dumb parrot I ever saw — which was 
accounted an idiot among birds, and which she, 
therefore, especially protected). However, Dulci- 
bella, the eldest, was very pious and theological, 
yet not ascetic nor perverse; she corresponded 
with clergymen and made cherry-brandy and 
cranberry-cream, which endangered their constitu- 
tions during their pastoral visits. Evelyn, called 
by her mother Evleen, was accomplished, played 
and sang, and invariably danced instead of walk- 
ing. Letitia was an artist, drew likenesses in 
profile, and took pencil sketches in the grounds. 
Dorothy was a linguist, could speak French for 
five minutes straight on, had read Metastasio with 
a master, and had heard that German was very 
difficult. Honoria, the “ honey” of her mamma, 
was a fine fancy needle- woman, and had worked 
six -parrots on six chair-backs for Mrs. Thynne’s 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


113 


dressing-room; not from a pattern, but from tbe 
parrot itself. 

These girls, who were all in perfect health, and 
all looked the same age, first taught me practically 
the doctrine which theory rather excites one to 
disallow than to believe — ^that of universal sympa- 
thy between human beings and immortal souls. I 
have never met — certainly never lived in the midst 
of — so charitable a family. It was the mainspring 
of their enjoyment that they interested themselves 
with poverty and sorrow. The girls had plenty of 
money and spent it freely, but never wasted a 
penny. They, moreover, would not clothe or feed 
the idle, but only helped them to get into work. 
It was the sick and aged, the orphan without a 
protector, who would have praised their bounty 
best ; only they did not dare. 

All this surprised me, as Lady Barres only gave 
to societies, and not at all in private. She told us 
that unless your money was placed in such security 
as societies afford, it could be of no use to any 
body; at least so far as you knew yourself the 
effect of your own peculiar alms. The Thynnes, 
though they gave away more than any people I 
have known— except certain Quakers — ^were, how- 
ever, dashing dressers, the queens of cockneydom, 
and gay as poppies in a summer field. I heard 
soon enough about their brother ; whom they aU 


114 MY FIRST SEASON. 

laughed at, thougli they seemed to stand in awe of 
something in him, too. His name was Thjnne 
Thynne ; his mother having wished to call him 
after his father, who had not admired his own 
Christian name ! His sister informed me that he 
was a great admirer of ladies, but that he never 
went too far ; that he was frightfully clever, and, 
above all, could write poetry — was always writing 
it ; and that the doctors said when he was a baby 
he had either water on the brain or genius. 

Every body thinks his own gosling a cygnet, 
and therefore I was surprised that he turned out 
rather more of a man, and also more of a poet, 
than I had expected. He was the only pale one 
of the family, and had very expressive eyes ; still, 
through all his assumption of ethereal aspirations, 
I could trace a deep appreciation of being comfort- 
able, which he stifled beneath his sentimental habit. 
There could be no doubt of his pretensions to 
genius, with those who have studied the most ap- 
proved models — the isolated dignity with which, 
having reached the tea-table, he flung himself into 
a chair ; the start from reverie when his sister 
handed him his cup ; the entranced silence, the fit- 
ful remark, the fairy appetite, all marked the “ su- 
perior being.” 

The sun went down before we had finished tea 
and “the poet” was so shocked at us for talk* 


MY FIRST SEASON. 115 

ing in tlie twilight, that he arose and left the 
room. 

It was undoubted that Thynne Thynne was a 
poet. Ancient authority assures us that the poet 
is born, not made ; but modern ingenuity has ex- 
hibited how those not born poets can be made so. 
The process, though not difficult, requires confi- 
dence, and the tact engendered by reading more 
books than most persons read ; indeed, it is a pro- 
cess actually patented, and at present in full opera- 
tion. Those who have a natural ear must belong 
to “a school,” own a master, imitate boldly, and 
plagiarise darkly, under cover of intricate expres- 
sion ; then the work is done. A very clever wo- 
man remarked in my hearing, that in these days 
it is a far more extraordinary merit not to be, than 
to be an author ; since much, very much more is 
written and published than bought and read. 
Truly this may be predicted of poets, whose only 
advantage is, that they “come like shadows — so 
depart:” or rather like fantastic mushrooms be- 
neath the everlasting oak. 

If Thynne Thynne had not been a poet he would 
have been an agreeable and intelligent young man ; 
for the crumbs fallen from the table of many a 
great genius had nourished this little genius, so that 
he knew a good deal. He and I talked much, but 
we generally quarreled : still he sought my socie- 


116 MY FIKST SEASON. 

ty ; and at last it entered my brain that it would 
be proper I should talk to him about poetry, as be 
was a poet. Lady Barres bad solemnly advised 
me that tbe Eeynolds in me prevented my attain- 
ment of that highest social art — the art of flattering 
a foible in another ; and I found, indeed, in the 
case of Thynne Thynne, that I always contrived 
to stumble upon the most prosaic subjects. The 
more I tried to be imaginative, or, as the phrase 
goes, “ ideal” in my conversation, the more inevi- 
tably my idiosyncrasy prevailed to preserve my 
discourse within the limits of that fool’s paradise 
called nonsense. If Thynne Thynne had been as 
destitute of breeding as he was of self-knowledge, 
of course he would have offered to read me his 
poems ; but he was shy and somewhat gentle, and 
the nearest approach he made to invoking the 
muse in my presence, was one morning in the boat, 
when he took a book out of his pocket and offered 
to read that — a long poem in blank verse by some- 
body whom he knew, and the world knew not. 
Honoria, his youngest sister, snatched the book 
firom him and threw it into the river, so we escaped 
the imposition, and he the opportunity; which, how- 
ever, circumstance created for him of itself at last. 

I had been there about a fortnight, when one 
day, on jumping out of the boat, I saw standing at 
a short distance along the bank a little boy crying; 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


117 


it was one of tlie gardener’s cMldren I knew, and 
I ran to ask kim wkat was tke matter. He pointed 
to his kite, which had caught among some sedge at 
the bottom of the bank ; and not having been 
warned that the footing was insecure, I ran down 
the bank and stretched out my hand to lay hold of 
the kite. The ground gave way under my foot, 
and in I* fell, bonnet foremost., There was not 
water enough to drown, but plenty of mud to 
stifle me ; still I could have got up very well, I 
believe, even had not Thynne Thynne rushed to 
my rescue and insisted upon carrying me into the 
house. I was put to bed after a hot bath, made to 
drink spiced wine and brandy undiluted, and in 
fact surfeited with kindness ; they wanted me to 
stay in bed all day. This easy deliverance from a 
slight danger had, however, developed in me the 
heroic frame of mind, and I was desirous to thank 
my preserver. 

It was astonishing how intimate we became im- 
mediately, and how benign and patronizing his 
glances grew ; nor was this aU, for next morning 
after breakfast, he so far aroused himself from the 
inertia of reverie, as to ask me whether I would 
favor him by looking at a picture he had in his 
room. Hifl sisters exchanged looks, and his 
mamma nodded at me ; it was, in fact, understood 
through the house that there was to be no sound 


118 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


heard in it until he issued from that room, which 
was consecrated to him while reading for his de- 
gree ; but as I was curious rather than reverential, 
I consented to accompany him. There was plenty 
of sacred litter in his foom, and heaps of papers 
on the table he did not at first draw my attention 
to these, but took out of a portfolio, in which it 
had traveled, a horrible likeness of himself, drawn 
on stone by an aspiring gentleman-commoner who 
had never learned to draw on any thing. He told 
me he should have it framed for his mother, and 
that some day, when he had earned the right to 
celebrity, he hoped it would be engraved and pub- 
lished. 

“Do you think ambition a vice, or only a weak- 
ness, Miss Keynolds ?” he inquired, as he was very 
slowly putting away the picture: evidently he 
wished for my serious opinion. Now for it, I 
thought : I like to tell men what 1 think when they 
will hsten ; which is seldom. 

“When ambition accompanies genius,” I re- 
plied, “I believe it to be the most powerful of 
virtues; but when a man without genius has 
ambition, it can scarcely be named either vice or 
weakness, as it results in negative folly without 
fruition.” 

He sighed, “What a thought is that! How shall 
it then be decided what genius is?” 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


119 


Yeiy unnecessary to decide, as it declares itself 
without definition.” 

“Its only painful attribute is that it comes 
and goes like the wind” — ^laying his hand upon 
some papers — “ one day the h6art glows, and the 
brain is a paradise of fancies ; next day the bosom 
is as ice, and the head shrouded Olympus-like in 
cloud I” 

The prettiness of the first conceit was merged in 
the absurdity of the second. “It would be very 
undesirable,” I remarked, “ that the action of the 
intellect should not be now and then impeded : it 
is unwholesome to live without sleep, either physic- 
ally or morally.” 

“ Ah I but one can not sleep I there is so much 
to do.” 

This observation touched my sympathy : it 
had often occurred to me. However, I should 
have remembered that there are things done which 
were better undone. Seeing him stand there 
with a certain sensitive expression, I remembered 
that very likely he had his poems underneath his 
hand, and said, I have heard that you are a poet: 
is it allowable to ask whether I may read your 
poems ?” 

He started, blushed, and hid his face with his 
hands. “ Hever !” it was impossible — I could not 
,read his writing' — ^men at college wrote such hands I 


120 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


I was considering wlietlier it would be an indis- 
creet suggestion tbat be should read them to me ; 
when be saved my prudence : if I did not tbink 
it too great a liberty, be would venture to read 
me one or two of those which bad been most 
admired. I said perhaps bis . sisters would also 
bke to bear. He replied, with a melancholy 
smile, “ They do not care : they have no taste, 
no sympathy with Did be mean himself and 
the Olympian Hierarchy, or me and himself? I 
knew not. 

“Don’t you mean to publish them?” I asked 
him. 

“I have a volume now in the press,” he answered ; 
“ but there are rivalries and jealousies, and, I wish 
to publish at least as a B.A.” 

I heard from his sisters that there was not enough 
of his short poems to make a volume of important 
size ; and that the publisher had recommended the 
poet to produce a long poem, with a majestic title. 
As Mr. Thynne’s poems did ultimately dawdle into 
print, perhaps they may be met with on some book 
stalls ; I need not, therefore, introduce specimens of 
them here. 

“ The first,” said he, in preface, “ I wrote undoi 
very peculiar circumstances. I had been to the 
hairdresser’s, and he had cut off more of my hair 
than was necessary. I did not discover his mi^- 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


121 


take at tke time, but walking upon tbe banks of 
tbe river when it was perfectly smootb and trans- 
parent, I saw that I looked like a gbost ; tbe loss 
of my hair having unvailed that wan outline 
which is peculiar to those who study art and care 
not to preserve health. It was a sultry day, and 
I threw myself upon the bank ; beneath me, in 
the transparent mirror, I yet beheld those melan- 
choly lineaments. An idea arrested me — ^Narcis- 
sus I — So by the classic fountain he reclined, and 
pined after his own beauty : a beautiful type of the 
poet, who finds nothing fairer than his own inborn 
aspirations.” 

He read the verses, very slowly, as a clerk gives 
out a hymn at a week-day service ; and nothing, 
except the “ Eejected Addresses,” ever made me 
laugh so much as this poem — within myself, for 
outwardly I kept my face. 

I thought it a great pity that he should not be 
laughed out of his hallucination, little suspecting 
that the mania of the literary hypochondriac is the 
worst to cure. 

That evening I found a bunch of really “ rathe” 
primroses in my plate at the tea-table. I took it 
up, and placed it in front of my dress. Thynne 
Thynne was not at table, and I supposed he had 
gone out to dinner; but presently he returned 
from some unknown region, and as all his sisters 
6 


122 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


were present, lie chased me round the room until 
he got me into a comer. Then he whispered, 
unmistakably indicating the primroses with his 
eye, “ I thank you that you have permitted them 
to plead for me,” and thrust a paper into my hand. 
Thinking it to be a letter, I half opened it, and 
saw verses. They seemed scarcely worth a scene, 
so, without reading, 1 put them into my work- 
bag: and it was not until next morning that I 
bethought myself to see what they were like. I 
opened them — ^read them — the first time thinking 
them absurd, the second time annoying. They 
must have been mysterious, for on scanning them 
attentively, I was amazed. Could they possibly 
imply that some indiscretion had involved me ? I 
felt for the moment as a fly in a spider’s web ; for 
I knew Thynne Thynne was serious when most 
absurd. The lines were these : 

“ O thou so magically mild, 

So soft, so heavenly dear I 
Browed whitely as the cradle child, 

Eyed as the stars we fear. 

Vailing with tenderness thy love. 

Which else should flash too bright 
(Like the cleft skies roll’d back above), 

To blind me with thy light 1 

“What beauty harped, what beauty sung; 

For thine sufficeth me ? 

Then marvel not my faltering tongue 
Essayeth praise of thee. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


123 


That praise falls not on empty air, 

IKsoothes thine heart to rest, 

With promise of a fate more fair, 

A being fully blest. 

“ Through those sweet eyes, so darkly blue, 

Despite their fringed fall, 

I catch a glimpse of heaven’s own hue. 

Thy sympathy, my all. 

I bade thee blush- — my fervent lays 
Made bloom that rose divine. 

Then mix thy lily with my bays, 

And let the wreath be mine 1” 

How could sucIl nonsense affect me? Yet it 
did. I feared having committed some imprudence 
hj which mj independence was compromised. 
"W as it possible that mortal maiden could so far 
involve herself bj talking to a man for an hour 
about his own poetry ? How could my feminine 
intuition have so deserted me? What to do I 
knew not. Other men had liked me, but this was 
the first man who had assured me that I liked him, 
and who therefore condescended to intimate that 
he liked me. 1 was desperate ; in the glass I saw 
an ugly white face and pale lips : that rose divine” 
had vanished. How often does the literal aid one 
when the intellectual fails ! In my perplexity I 
heard a noise of feet outside my door. Somebody 
knocked, I did not answer, and the footsteps crept 
away. When I thought them at safe distance I 
opened my door, and lo I there were all the girls. 


124 


MY FIRST. SEASON. 


their fine rosy countenances very grave, and all 
looking at me. In they all came, uninvited, with 
Dulcibella at their head. “ I told you so,” she ob- 
served reproachfully to her sisters, “ I knew it when 
I saw him give it her. Never mind, dear!” and 
she kissed me. “Never mind!” they all echoed, 
kissing me too. “Never mind what?” I asked: 
“ nothing is the matter, what in the world do you 
all come here for the first thing in the morning ?” 
“ For shatne 1” said Dulcibella, “ how can you treat 
us so, Beatrice ? As if we did not know what he 
was up to 1” “ What a shame “lie down on the 

bed ;” “ as white as a sheet “a drop of lavender 
on sugar ;”and a few other girhsms followed ; quite 
enough to bring back color to my cheeks — for now 
they burned. “I wish ladies, you would tell me 
what you have come for,” said I once more. 

“Because,” said Dorothy, “we were so afraid you 
would be angry with Thynne : we saw you crush 
the paper up without reading it.” 

“Without reading what?” I asked, pettishly. 

“ Now Beatrice,” said Dulcibella, very solemnly, 
“it’s of no use talking so. I know you don’t 
care about him : I know too well what those feel- 
ings are I But DoUy saw him give you the letter, 
and we talked it over, and agreed to ask you as a 
great favor not to tell mamma.” 

“Tell her? why should I tell anybody? He 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


125 


has written me no letter ; only some verses, most 
absurdly ridiculous, and not worth reading. I 
shall take no notice of them.” 

“ That ’s right,” said Dulcibella, “ I told you, 
girls, that Tnamma was wrong : she thinks every 
body likes him.” 

“Likes him, indeed I” said I; “I did like him 
very well ; but now I hate him. The idea of his 
daring to say I ‘vailed my love with tender- 
ness.’ ” 

“ Why,” exclaimed Letitia, “ that very line is in 
the set he wrote in Minnie Keed’s album.” 

“There they are — ^you had better read them 
all.” 

Dulcibella took them, and they all looked over 
her shoulder. As they went on one and all 
screamed and grew red with indignation. 

“ISTow be quiet, all of you,” said Dulcibella, 
“ and let me explain to Beatrice. Thynne is so 
dreadfully susceptible,” she went on, “that I 
don’t believe he ever will be married : no one 
ever stops in the house — friends of ours, I mean — 
he does not flirt with : poetically you know ; but 
I think that as bad as any. Of course you, 
Beatrice, are just the creature to upset him ; but 
I did not think he would have played such a 
mean trick for the sake of saving himself trouble. 
These lines are as old as the hills — ^first he wrote 


126 


MY PIEST SEASON, 


them for a Valentine before be went to college, 
and sent them signed with bis name to Miss 
Eamsden, at Hampton; wbo is kilbngly pretty, 
and very proud: sbe cut bim dead next time 
sbe saw bim, and be declared it was only because 
be sent tbe verses as a Valentine, not that sbe did 
not like bim. And tben, as Letty said, be wrote 
them in Minnie Eeed’s album. Minnie was fool 
enough to like bim, and was going to write an 
answer — a letter, not poetry — and I was afraid; 
for I knew bis fancies never lasted more than a 
week, so I told mamma. Mamma talked to Min- 
nie, and told her that all poets wrote about love, 
and that no proposals meant any thing that were 
not made in prose. Minnie fretted a good deal, 
but got over it, and now sbe has married a clergy- 
man. Mamma didn’t care about her; but, Bea- 
trice, sbe is so fond of you that sbe would give 
any thing if you should marry Tbynne. We 
know very. well you wouldn’t, you know — ^but, 
you understand, sbe would be in such a state if 
sbe thought you were offended with bim ; because 
of Lady Barres.” 

“Don’t fear I shall tell her: I am only desirous 
that bis folly should be forgotten. Certainly, tbe 
verses have done good service.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Dulcibella; “and be only 
altered one bne: Miss Eamsden is a gipsy, and 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


127 


he wrote for her — ‘ Through those proud eyes so 
darkly bright,’ with some thing about ‘ that dear 
sight but ‘ blue eyes’ did for Minnie, though she 
has flaxen hair.” 

I was now quite restored: “ Pray,’^ said I, how- 
ever, “do not let your brother know we have 
conversed upon the subject ; he would think him- 
self of so much consequence.” 

“Oh! no,” they all promised; but they ex- 
pressed surprise that I should go down to break- 
fast as usual. However, I did, and shook hands 
with Thynne Thynne, taking no notice of any of 
his grimaces, and looking him full in the eyes. 
This treatment succeeded, for though he tried to 
take opportunities of meeting me alone, he found 
none, and at last he sank into the utmost com- 
posure of common-place, treated me as a gentle- 
man in society should, and behaved as if nothing 
had happened. So did I. 




CHAPTER X. 


I DID not shorten my visit, either. A fortnight 
passed ; and Thynne Thynne had returned to col- 
lege. I had received no letters either from Lady 
Barres or Eowena; but one morning a servant on 
horseback, in a livery I did not identify, brought 
a large parcel which he said he was to deliver into 
Miss Reynolds’ own hands. I took it from him ; 
he was very respectful, said there was no answer 
required, and swiftly departed, leaving me much 
at a loss. I opened the parcel in my room ; it con- 
tained a valuable Spanish guitar in a painted case, 
and a volume of manuscript songs, also Spanish. 
Still more amazed, I opened the book, and a letter 
fell out of it, addressed to me in a hand I had 
never seen. It ran thus : 

My dear Miss Reynolds, 

“ For the first and last time I address you by 
letter — ^bear with me while I say a few words, 
which I can not ask another to communicate. 
You did rightly and nobly to deny me a personal 
interview ; I might perhaps have distressed you by 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


129 


the burden of a devotion I too painfully concealed, 
which at your command I would conceal from 
myself. I call you not cold, sweet child; but I 
honor, respect, and bow to your decision : for few, 
very few so fair and so young, would have dis- 
dained to receive the homage of a love they could 
not reciprocate. Your spirited determination that 
I should not even plead my cause, has but deep- 
ened that profound regard which must take the 
place of passion, and which subdues it for your 
sake. Fear not, therefore, to return to a house 
which I trust will be in future more than ever a 
home to you. No word, nor whisper, not a way- 
ward glance, shall remind you that one who is 
your most devoted friend, ever, in distracted 
moods, dreamed the dream that he might be other 
and more. 

“ For soon I shall be placed in a position which 
I trust will guarantee your peace of mind, and I 
pray may increase your happiness. Your most 
amiable and accomplished protectress, in accepting 
my hand, will redouble her energies — I hope her 
power-— to minister to your comfort and enjoy- 
ment. I feel sure that, so affianced, you will give 
me credit for having made you my first considera- 
tion. ’*1 trust that you will treat me sincerely, as 
you find me faithful, and ask me for all you re- 
q^uire ; to all your faithful wishes let me minister. 


130 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


In earnest of sncli sweet confidence — a sweeter 
tlian parental care — I send yon a guitar; that in- 
strument which is only tuneable in the most grace- 
ful hands. Also a few songs, written in my far- 
distant youth, which I believe are new in Eng- 
land.” 

This was all, except the signature. The signa- 
ture ! — ^Kormanville. I read the letter over again, 
very slowly. — ^Kormanville ! “A personal inter- 
view I had denied.” “ My spirited determination 
that he should not plead his cause “ profound 
regard which took the place of passion ;” — “ affi- 
anced to my protectress.” I was baffled by the 
mystery at every point. A Werteresque con- 
fusion seized my faculties; my head swam, and 
my heart sickened. I was but eighteen, or I 
should have detected a key to the cipher in the 
sentence, then to me inscrutable — A few words I 
can not ask another to communicate.” 

I might possibly have felt touched by the first 
part of the letter, had not the second disgusted me ; 
and as for the conclusion, it goaded me to desper- 
ation. I determined — however innocent of the 
determination he ascribed to me — ^to risk all in 
discovering the truth. I therefore requested the 
loan of the carriage of my generous hostess# “ Is 
my Lady Barres ill?” of course she asked; but I 
calmed her apprehension, and saying I would re- 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


131 


turn to dinner, slie let me go ; forgiving me very 
good-naturedly for refusing lier escort. 

I reached town about three o’clock, and saw 
Savage, who informed me Lady Barres was out, 
and had taken Miss Yaux with her. I could not 
calculate the duration of a round of calls, but re- 
solved to wait as long as possible; whereupon 
Savage threw open the dining-room door. There 
was no fire. “No,” I said, “I am cold, and will 
sit in the drawing-room.” “ The drawing-room is 
occupied,” remarked Savage, looking at me like a 
were-wolf. I took no notice but rang the dining- 
room bell. Up came a maid with whom I hap- 
pened to be a favorite. “ Who is in the drawing- 
room?” “My Lord Normanville: his lordship is 
waiting for my lady.” How fortunate, thought I ; 
— will go to head-quarters. Fanny was a modest 
person, and I ventured to. enlighten myself by re- 
marking inquiringly — “ Lord Normanville has 
been here often, of course, since I went away?” 
“ Every day,” Fanny replied; adding that she sup- 
posed something had detained him that morning, 
as her lady had said she could not wait for him 
any longer. 

I went up stairs, feeling more guilty than I was ; 
but not afraid of him. As I entered the room he 
turned pale and caught hold of the mantleshelf, 
near which he had stood. I went up to him and 


182 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


held out my hand; he took it and retained it, 
bending on me his agitated glance. I remarked 
very quietly that I had come to thank his lordship 
for a beautiful present, which I valued ; and had 
done so in person because I unexpectedly heard 
that he was in the house. His eye flashed, and I 
thought he smiled inquiringly as I withdrew my 
hand and seated myself upon a sofa ; he still stood. 
“Pardon — ^pardon!” he exclaimed, with a trem- 
bling voice that dissolved my indignation ; “ I was 
not prepared to see you^ and your coming mastered 
me. An old soldier should not be weak as I am — 
but it is ever so. Your sudden arrival — ^your 
frank address. God grant my sentence be not too 
late reversed — ^too late I” 

“ Your lordship may rest quite assured that I 
only claim the privilege of your friendship. But 
I have a prejudice against writing any thing that 
be spoken without fear; and I almost dread, 
from your letter, that you may consider me un- 
grateful.” 

“ Ungrateful I— and to me ! Spare me, or I shall 
be driven beyond my resolution to tell you how 
grateful am I for this visit — ^however painful, still 
most sweet.” 

“ Hot at all — ^the obligation is on my side. Ex- 
cuse me, but I am a predetermined old maid, and I 
like to be precise. I fancy that my sentiments 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


133 


were too rudely conveyed to yon. May I ask yon 
exactly wkat took place between my guardian and 
your lordship — about myself, I mean?” 

“And do you not know — ^you can bear to hear 
my painful story?” 

“^It can not be painful to me. But it is my very 
earnest wish to be sure that your lordship has 
been treated with the respect due to your conde- 
scension — ^your considerateness.” 

I knew he would go on, if he began about him- 
self ; and I felt I must know, from him^ as my only 
guaranty of an authentic detail. 

“I came, you know too well,” he said, “hoping, 
longing, praying for an interview with you. Per- 
haps my generous fiiend, your guardian, would 
not have told you how I pleaded my cause, at first 
to her, of course; requesting her permission to 
plead it with yourself. It is impossible to express 
how graciously, affectionately she received me; 
with what tender and almost maternal kindness she 
promised to do all in her power to persuade you to 
permit me an interview. Her disinterested admira- 
tion of your beauty, her enthusiastic recognition 
of your genius and your discretion, interfered with 
the suggestion of her maturer judgment — which, 
alas I I as weU as she miscalculated. She led me 
to hope that the great disparity of our years would 
not be in your eyes an invincible objection ; for 


134 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


she Milted at your unheeded triumphs amid men 
who were young and inexperienced, to whom, as 
to me, you were irresistible. 

She bade me farewell with touching earnestness 
— she promised to ^ray for my success — and she 
appointed an hour next day for me to inquire the 
result of her mediation. 

“I called. She greeted me with a countenance 
of the truest sympathy — she told sad tidings in the 
sweetest voice. She said you had resolutely and 
indignantly refused to see me — ^that your fastidious 
taste was deeply offended by my appeal, and that 
you determined no longer to suffer my hope to 
exist. ^But,’ added her ladyship, with warmth 
she rarely exhibits, ‘ my dear Lord hTormanville, 
what is a girl’s resolution ? It is equally absurd to 
suppose that the child is devoid of the coquetry 
which at her age is most natural and fascinating.’ 
Forgive me, Beatrice I there alone I differed from 
her : your decision was, to my apprehension, doom. 
But I did not say so ; I was a drowning man, and 
I caught at a wisp of straw.” 

“Yes,” I gasped forth — “ she said — 

“That I might come again the^next^day, and 
that she was most sanguine in believing you would 
change your mind between that day and the mor- 
row.” •. 

“ And the next day,” I interrupted, “ I guess 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


135 


wliat happened I” I said this hastily, lest an item 
of the truth — or rather the falsehood I — should es- 
cape me. Lord Normanville continued ; 

“ She met me again with smiles and tears, and 
spoke tenderly of her deep anxiety. She express- 
ed her wish that you were happily settled in life, 
and said that she preferred me to any one she had 
seen; but she did not conceal from me that she 
had a second time, and still more indignantly, been 
silenced by you when she alluded to me in the 
most distant manner.” 

“ I fear I gave her a great deal of trouble I” 

She did not think so ; though her nerves were 
shattered and trembling under the delicacy of her 
position. Seeing my despair, she added, that — 
though most affectionately regardful of your feel- 
ings, as she knew well those feelings were not de- 
voted to another — she should employ her authority 
as your guardian to insist upon your granting me 
an interview — only one ; but still an opportunity 
which I too rashly desired. I sorely repented me 
of that extreme measure ; which, however, I cer- 
tainly permitted her to take; and I shall ever 
regret it.” 

“You need not,” I interposed. 

“Alas I next day I came. Lady Barres could 
not see me for some time, and when, at last, I was 
admitted, she was lying exhausted upon the sofa. 


136 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


She could scarcely find words to tell me the bitter 
and distracting truth, that you had fled, she knew 
not whither. She had reason to dislike my intru- 
sion at such a time, and for a week afterward I 
dared not call, so haughtily had she dismissed me. 
In a few days I received from her ladyship a letter 
which overcame me. I can not trouble you with 
its contents, but they deeply touched my heart, 
then desolately cold. She said she had heard 
where you were, but that the family who enter- 
tained you were not fit to be your associates. She 
requested me to call, and we had a long, most 
deeply trying interview. Her health seemed even 
dangerously shattered by her affectionate anxieties 
■ — ^her devoted tenderness for one she loves as her 
own daughter. She bitterly lamented your ab- 
sence, and very gently reproached me with what I 
too sincerely felt — the fatality of a sentiment en- 
gendered by the charms of youthful beauty in one 
whose heart alone is young. She quite made it 
manifest that you could not be recalled while I 
visited her as on former grounds — ^that you would 
not, rather: but she most generously defended 
your spirit, and she most fondly excepted you from 
those every day instances in which the guardian 
commands^ not requests. 

“ The rest you know : but are too young to un- 
derstand. It was long before your refined protect- 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


137 


ress would permit me to hope that even remotely I 
might be suffered to testify to her my gratitude — 
my sincere regard. Her remarkable character has 
unfolded a fresh page — ^rather a fresh volume — of 
the mysterious poetry of woman. It would be 
impossible to find any one so sincere, so devoted to 
the highest duties, so hard to win, and so exalted 
when won. I tell 3^ou all this to console your gem 
erous heart; it could not otherwise be disclosed. 
But you wished to know all ; and in a few words 
I have conveyed to you what has cost days and 
nights of suspense, of anxious -thought, and prayer 
most ardent. It would be very soothing to me to 
have your approbation. There are yet three years 
of your sojourn here — ^may they be the happiest of 
your life.” 

“I have no doubt they will. Shall I see my 
kind friend. Lady Barres, that I may have the 
gratification of congratulating her ?” 

“ I trust she will return even every moment.” 

“ Then I must vanish. As a great favor, will 
your lordship refrain from telling her that we have 
had an interview ? It would pain her, and I have 
^ven her too much trouble abeady.” 

I will sacredly fulfill your commands. Must I 
then leave you ? command me.” 

“By no means : I want something out of my room, 
and will remain there until Lady Barres returns.” 


138 


MY FIBST SEASON* 


I went, and sitting there, remembered a theory 
I had met with in an old book on “ The Black 
Art,” that every woman since Eve has been born 
with a serpent coiled inside her heart; the snake is, 
in some cases, scotched by the power of virtue, but 
in no instance is it found wanting, by the anato- 
mist who goes the right way to find it. In some 
subjects the reptile evinces the intense suggestive- 
ness of his prototype, and insinuates each canon of 
deceit, yea, even unto self-deception. Perhaps, 
therefore, the cornu ammonis imbedded in my own 
hard heart deceived -me — perhaps I was disappoint- 
ed, not disgusted — ^perhaps it was envy and not 
contempt that bowed my spirit, and spread along 
my veins a throbbing fever. 

I had not, however, been ten minutes in my 
room when I heard a knock at the street door, 
which I knew to be Lady Barres’s. Although I had 
not chosen to stay alone with Lord Norman ville, 
I wished to be found in the drawing-room and 
returned there before the servants had opened the 
door. Having arrived there. Lord Normanville 
and I both heard a noise upon tKe stairs, as of sob- 
bing, shuffling, -and something being dragged along. 
We went to the door, and I beheld Eowena, 
whom Savage and a maid were conveying up 
stairs'; she screaming, struggling, and frantically 
discomposed. Horrified, I returned into the room: 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


139 


Btill Lady Banes did not appear. Then I said, 
“Your lordship has promised to be my friend. 
If my cousin is so ill, of course Lady Barres is 
upset, and to see me suddenly might alarm her. 
Under these circumstances, will you go and tell her 
I am here, and why I came — ^to congratulate her 
ladyship, having received your letter of inform- 
ation.” 

He went; which some men would not have 
done. He remained some little time down 
stairs ; but at length he re-entered, leading Lady 
Banes by her hand. She wore her bonnet, 
and an Indian shawl which trailed on the ground ; 
she came forward, sank upon a sofa, and held 
out her hands to greet me. She looked soft, 
pale, and fascinating: her glance was timid and 
bewildered. She addressed me in a tender tone, 
“My child, my own sweet Beatrice, welcome! 
most welcome ; and many thanks for your pretty 
message, which was so gallantly conveyed to me. 
You will excuse my not alluding to circum- 
stances which have been ordained by one who 
does all well.” Here she glanced at Lord Horman- 
ville, who looked as if he were at a levee — can stiff 
discomfort further go ? I tried to pull my hands 
away, but she imprisoned them in her velvet 
palms. “And the sun has absolutely left your 
beautiful skin without a touch. Do you know, 


140 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


my dear Lord ISTormanville, that it is only complex- 
ions of the very purest that never burn.” “No- 
body bums under a March sun,” I observed. 
“ But the winds ! those blighting, rasping winds, 
they absolutely flay one alive. I never dare to 
put my face out of doors in the country except in 
August.” 

I did not suggest the unlikelihood of there 
. being any radical difference between country and 
London wind, for Lady Barres could not be 
supposed to know what she said, under the pro- 
vidential circumstances to which she could not 
allude. I, therefore, remarked upon the necessity 
of my departure; but she replied, “I really can 
not spare you any longer : I must not lose you 
again — wild child as you are,- to have come alone 
and unprotected 1 Does she think I will let* such a 
dangerous little person be any longer at large?” 
Then she called Savage by ringing the bell, and 
told him to “Send back Mrs. Thynne’s carriage, 
, with my compliments, and tell her man to say Miss 
Eeynolds will remain in town.” “ But I promised 
to return,” I remarked. “ No, no I” she answered, 
with soft, but tigress-like looks and sweet peremp- 
tory accents ; “it must not be. There is my poor 
Eowena, so very sadly poorly , so lonely without 
her -sweet companion. You will not refuse to help 
me by remaining with her while I am of neoes- 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


141 


sity so occupied. She has indeed been ill, and has 
much exhausted me, for I could not allow any 
one else to minister to her wants. Will my 
Beatrice go and see her ? She is now in her own 
room, I fear quite distressingly fatigued by our short 
drive this afternoon; which has also wearied me.” 

This long explanation was unnecessary. I did 
not particularly like being with them in the 
room, and went immediately to Eowena, who 
was lying rigid upon her bed with her walking 
dress on, and her bonnet smashed flat as a 
trencher. Directly she saw me her screams were 
renewed ; she first locked her arms tight round my 
neck, and then pushed me away. The maid, who 
was standing by with a solemn countenance, but 
in evident sympathy with the scene, I dismissed 
very shortly fi*om the room, and then sat down 
some distance from the bed, with my back to the 
patient, and took a book. My treatment was suc- 
cessful: Eowena rallied; having nothing real to 
recover from. Then followed the relation of her 
wrongs; which, considering her disposition, were 
worse than mine, though I can not say they made 
me more indignant. 

It appeared that Lady Barres had intimated to 
her, even before I was out of the house, that it was 
necessary to send me away because I thought too 
much of Lord NormanviUe’s notice, and too little 


142 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


of the difference between myself and a grandee 
like him. I really did not know, until Eowena 
told me, of how great worldly advantages Lord 
ISTormanville was master. The only intellectual 
exercise my fair cousin ever perpetrated, was to 
calculate the actual fortune and pecuniary anticipa-' 
tions- of every person she met. Her results were 
always accurate to a figure ; and in the case of Lord 
Hormanville, they had been too tremendous for her 
peace, and had filled her empty brain with golden 
visions. I could not ascertain how far Lady Barres 
was answerable for this her folly ; but I certainly 
gathered that her ladyship assured Eowena Lord 
ISTormanville admired her much, far more than 
me ; that his lordship must be permitted to come 
to the house whenever he pleased ; and that his 
half-brother must also have this privilege extended 
to him, and be treated with vast politeness by 
Eowena, for his lordship’s sake. All this was di- 
luted with much pique but little passion, not worth 
repeating or remembering. But the end of the 
story was, that Lady Barres had that morning re- 
vealed to her two facts — rather an overdose for so 
feeble a mental constitution — ^that Lord Horman- 
ville was going to marry her ladyship, and had 
also requested permission for his half-brother to 
aspire to the hand of Eowena : that horrid Hugh 
de Brabazone I 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


143 


In vain, for a wliile, I represented to her that in 
his veins flowed stately Norman blood; that his 
private fortune was superior to that of any indi- 
vidual she had met, except his brother ; and that 
(as the highest precedent my reading afforded me) 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu had married a com- 
moner, though herself the daughter of a ducal 
house. Eowena did not renew the active demon- 
strations I dreaded, but she remained in a state of 
collapse commonly called the sulks. I really de- 
sired that she should marry Hugh de Brabazone ; 
for, though a mere dandy, he was even-tempered ; 
and though vain, not vicious: he thought bad 
morals low. Also, although he esteemed himself 
in the first place, it was probable he would, in the 
second place, esteem his wife ; she being part of, 
and nearest to, himself. 


CHAPTER XL 


Eowena and I were of course never allowed to 
go out except under superintendence : indeed, 
Lady Barres did not permit us to walk at all, ex- 
cept in the park. That I once erred in violating 
her orders I can scarcely regret or repent. 

It happened one afternoon, in the beginning of 
May, that Lady Barres went out to make purchases 
in anticipation of an auspicious event, and carried 
Rowena with her ; remarking that I never took 
any interest in such matters, and she therefore did 
not pester me to accompany them. This was true 
about my taste, or tastelessness ; but she was gla^ 
to be out of my sight at that particular time. } 
knew they would be a long while in the shops , 
and Savage, who always watched me, being off 
duty at his dinner, I obeyed my irresistible inclina- 
tion to inhale a breath or two of fresh air. The 
park was only one square and a street and a hal/ 
off ; so I determined to dare the short distance by 
myself. I wrapped myself in a shawl, eclipsed my 
countenance with a poke bonnet and vail, and sal 
lied forth with a book in my hand. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


145 


Now there had been a lev^e that day, and there 
was to be a great horticnltural show somewhere at 
the West End, or near it; carriage-loads of patric- 
ians and crowds of plebeians filled the streets ; so 
that I grew bewildered, and, despite my proximity 
to the park, I lost my way. I was abont to cross 
the road to get out of the throng, and was waiting 
for a break in the string of equipages, when I saw 
emerge from a picture-shop, Mr. Henry, with a lady 
on his arm. This shop was immediately behind 
me as I stood, and I had been looking in at its 
window when I saw them. Under any other cir- 
cumstances I should have ventured to greet him, 
but the lady so entranced my gaze that at the mo- 
ment I forgot to address her companion. Under- 
neath her cottage bonnet I had caught one full 
glimpse of her face, so singularly, ravishingly 
beautiful, that it prompted the audacious resolution 
to find out where she was going, and, if possible, 
who she was. I rushed after them ; but it was un- 
necessary to hurry myself, as they moved with the 
slow and graceful step so unusual in this country, 
and rarely to be seen but upon such promenades 
as that of San Greorgia, or the Alameda. The lady 
leaned upon the arm of the gentleman, and every 
moment turned toward him with the most con- 
fiding gestures. They did not cross the road, but 
turned from one street into another ; I recklessly 
7 


146 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


following, thougli taking care to tread as they 
trod, and very lightly. The figure of the lady v^as 
slender and somewhat tall, but exquisitely grace- 
ful. I did not hear her voice, so low she spoke, 
but I could just distinguish the murmur of h^, 
and that now and then they laughed. At length 
he left her — ^yes, left her, at the door of a small 
private house in a very quiet, well-built street. As 
the door opened to receive her, they shook hands, 
and he said something to her ; but he did not look 
up at the house as he retired: it was evidently 
familiar to him. I had staked a good deal upon 
that probability, of course. He could not, then, 
be her lover I It was clear to me, therefore,, that 
she must be either his wife or his sister : his daugh- 
ter it was impossible for her to be, as I knew that, 
even if he were privately married, his age, being 
only thirty at the time I first saw him at Ashleigh, 
would preclude his having a child grown up. 

While he walked away, I stood upon an ad- 
jacent door-step, that in case he recognized my 
figure he might suppose I was going to caU upon 
some one ; and I took care to turn my back until 
he had crossed the road: for 1 felt I had been 
guilty of a little act of espionage, innocent as was 
my curiosity ; else why had I not addressed him ? 
I fancied him safe out of sight, when I ventured 
to look round ; but there he was standing on the 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


147 


otlier side of tTie street, and evidently watcliing 
me, tliongli very gravely. I liad drawn my vail 
close down, and did not think he knew me, but in 
another instant he had recrossed tho street, and 
approached ; he did not wait for me to bow, bnt 
exclaimed, somewhat anxiously, “ Miss Eeynolds !” 

“ Mr. Henry !” I replied, and bowed as easily as 
possible. 

“ Eeally,” he continued, “ I am surprised to see 
you herOv 

V Very likely,” said I, “I was going to take a 
walk in the park ; or rather to sit down there and 
read, and I lost my way. Don’t let me detain 
you, Mr. Henry, but I shall really be thankful if 
you will just set me right in my road. I only 
want one of the gates, I do not care which.” 

“ They are so remarkably near one another that 
it does not matter which, certainly,” Mr. Henry 
observed, with a smile. “ I will bring a hackney- 
coach to you, and see that you are safely conveyed 
home,” he added, glancing at me with his piercing, 
yet kindly eye. I was excessively vexed, and 
sadly disappointed ; particularly as I did not like 
him to consider me imprudent : but my spirit re- 
fused to let me confess as much. I got into the 
hackney-coach, very disconsolate, and when it 
stopped at Lady Barres’s door there was Mr. Henry 
again outside, to see me safe into the house. He 


148 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


bowed, saying nothing, and I did the same ; I was 
really very angry, and walked np stairs feeling 
very mncli inclined to cry. I just went into the 
drawing-room, and looked out of a window — ^tbis 
time Mr. Henry was really gone quite out of sight ; 
but the hackney-coach in which I had been driven 
home against my wish was only very slowly being 
drawn back to its stand. Savage being still over 
his dinner, or lounging after it, I ran down stairs 
again, and out of the house; then calling the 
hackney-coach, I feed its driver, and inquired of 
him the name of the street where he had taken me 
up, and the nearest way to it ; telling him I had 
forgotten something, to account for what might 
seem to him a strange inquiry. I walked on, and 
found the way easily to the house ; I ascended its 
steps this time, and knocked at the door, though 
with a trembling hand and excited feelings! A 
maid, with, a respectable mien, opened the door 
immediately. I summoned every audacious part- 
icle in my blood to my assistance, and inquired in 
a matter-of-course way, whether Mrs. Henry 
lived there.” “ifz55 Henry,” replied the maid, 
very innocently, quite unaware of the effect the 
name produced upon me. I took out a card. 

“Will you give her my card, and inquire 
whether Lmay see her for a few moments?” 

The maid, having asked me into a very small, 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


149 


neat dining-parlor, left me for a minute, wlien she 
returned and ushered me up stairs into a pretty 
little drawing-room, not gay, but delicately neat. 
There was a harp — I quite agree with the author 
of “ Festus,” that “ there ’s something in the shape 
of harps as if they had been made for music.” 
Also there was a bookcase, filled, to my pleasant 
surprise, with those dear volumes of quaint and 
refined literature which Greorge and I had beeii 
privileged to study at Ashleigh. I had time to 
identify them, for though the maid told me Miss 
Henry would be “ down directly” — as such re- 
tainers always do — I waited quite a quarter of an 
hour, in all the suspense of an anticipation I had 
created for myself, and therefore liked the more. 

Then she entered — she herself? not at all : not 
the tall, slender queen of grace and loveliness; 
but an oldish lady, tiny but terrific, dressed with 
awful neatness, in a clear muslin apron and close 
cap, wearing a warming-pan of a watch and gold 
spectacles: an apparition repelling in its respect- 
ability. The dame made me a courtesy, and re- 
quested to know my business; I made a defiant 
bow, and replied that I could only tell my business 
to Miss Henry. “ I am Miss Henry,” returned a 
calm, ruthless voice. I rose— “ Oh I” I exclaimed, 
‘‘I have made a mistake. Pardon me. Good 
morning.” “Good afternoon,” said the dame. 


150 


MY F lEST SEASON. 


blinking behind her spectacles, and following me 
to the door. I went out biting my tongue with 
vexation, but before I set foot on the top step of 
the staircase, from the staircase above that landing, 
descended, like an angel, I thought at that vexed 
moment, the tall, slender queen of grace and love- 
liness. . I felt child-like as I caught the lofty sweet- 
ness of her expression ; she gazed inquiringly ; I 
turned and bowed, saying, “I wished much to 
speak to you, but this lady desired me to com- 
municate to her what I had to say. This I could 
not do, therefore, I suppose I must depart without 
satisfaction.” I felt warmly, and no doubt gave 
that impression. 

The old lady laid her diminutive hand upon my 
arm while I yet addressed the young one, and to 
my surprise she said, “ Young lady, you did not 
tell me that you wished to see my niece. I obeyed 
the summons conveyed by the servant. Had you 
condescended to explain, you would have found 
me amenable to your desire ; though I would still 
assure you that our retirement has never been 
similarly invaded. I will immediately leave you 
with the Miss Henry whom you came to see — ^it 
does not surprise me that you were disappointed 
to see me instead.” 

I was much struck by the courtly calmness and 
highly refined accent of this small personage, and 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


161 


flattered by her appreciation — rather ashamed also, 
I replied, You are very good, madam ; but you 
may think me very wrong, for I ran away from 
home to come here — however, the home of 
my heart or my choice. It is better to confess to 
you, for I can not remain on sufferance, even 
where I so earnestly long to stay.” 

“Not in the draft, then,” added the lady I had 
addressed — “enter!” She opened the drawing- 
room door with a stateliness that made the small 
chamber seem one of regal audience, and *she left 
me with my queen. But now, my object within 
reach, I trembled : a strange fascination came over 
me, and, though I knew she was not married, I 
really felt a fear lest she should be irrevocably dis- 
posed of by promise. For in truth my romantic 
fancy had in a moment asssociated her with one 
very dear to me, and to whom her brother was 
most dear. 

I knew George’s taste in beauty as in other 
things, and that this most beautiful woman would 
minister to it as completely as she would satisfy 
his appreciation of all that is pure and noble in 
character. In her countenance the rare type of 
true Sarmatian nobility was blent, with youth in 
its blooming freshness, dignified with an air of 
majesty. Her head was set like a lily on its stem ; 
her eyes of violet blue were fringed with the 


162 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


darkest laskes ; her hair was purple black. This 
beauteous blending of dark hair with blue eyes 
one upon which George had ever expatiated to me, 
even in his boyhood ; andjiis manhood found him 
too fastidious to be impressed by the ordinary 
charms of reigning and rival beauties : though he 
could critically admire women, and with the usual 
coldness of connoisseurship, even analyze unques- 
tionable charms. This merely by the way. 

“ I am sorry I was so absurd,” I began, directly 
we were alone, “but I never thought of there 
being more than one Miss Henry ; and I boldly in- 
vented her for the occasion. I must explain to you 
that I saw you walking with Mr. Henry, and feel- 
ing sure you were either his wife or his sister, I in- 
quired for the former and received confirmation of 
the latter.” 

“ I am happy in being his sister,” she replied, in • 
the sweetest voice I ever heard; though I no 
longer wondered I could not hear those dulcet 
tones in the street. 

“I am sure you must be,” I replied, in my usual 
reckless manner ; “ though you will be surprised, 
perhaps, to hear that all the happiness I enjoy, and 
all my knowledge of that wherein true happiness 
consists, I owe to him. You must wonder — or at 
least you may.” 

“ I do not, and could not. I recognized your 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


153 


name directly, and so did my aunt, who was really 
anxious to do any thing for one to whose family 
we are so much indebted. I wish I could thank 
you as I should like to do, Miss Eeynolds ; for your 
amiable and confiding conduct brought my brother 
much enjoyment and happiness during the time 
you passed with the excellent nobleman who em- 
ploys him.” 

No, no I that really is too Parisian a strain for 
this literal London present. I never did any thing 
except do my lessons right, as the children say; 
and very often wrong. But his instructions are to 
me priceless treasures. My cousin Greorge would 
lay down his life for Mr. Henry : and he ought ; 
for though he might have grown up ignorant and 
good, or even clever and not so good, under ordi- 
nary circumstances, he never could have imbibed 
the wisdom of a sage and preserved the innocence 
of a child, as I may say, thank God, he has done, 
had it not been for the inestimable advantages of 
his tutor’s guidance and society. George is a noble 
young man, and I hope and believe that Mr. Henry 
loves him too.” ^ 

“I did not know,” she answered, simply, “that 
Lord Ailye studied under my brother. 1 under- 
stood that you were his adopted child and brought 
up with the young sister of his lordship ; and that 
my brother gave you lessons in languages and 
1 * 


154 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


science. I fancied Lord Ailye to be as old as my 
brother.” 

It was evident Miss Henry did not study the 
“ Peerage,” as is the favorite habit of commoners 
not in “ high life,” or she would not have mistaken 
George for Edward; and I felt rather indignant 
that Mr. Henry had neglected to mention George. 
I determined to take instant revenge for this 
omission, and said, -“the present Lord Ailye was 
George Yaux when I went to Ashleigh, and then 
about seventeen I think. I supppose you knew 
where your brother was. Miss Henry?” ‘‘Yes,” 
she replied, with pride in her soft voice ; “ but I 
directed my letters to the post-office, Woodstane, 
— ^shire.” 

“Ah! Woodstane was our village, and four 
miles from Ashleigh. A woman in a man’s hat, 
riding on an ass, used to bring our letters : but I 
suppose she left Mr. Henry’s behind her. That ac- 
counts for Mr. Henry’s long walks on Saturday 
evenings ; at which George used to chafe, because 
they were the only walks in which Mr. Henry never 
asked for his company. So Mr. Henry ignores 
George 1 — shan’t tell him.” 

“ I have not certainly heard the name.” 

“He was my cousin Edward’s next brother. 
Edward was very pecuhar, and deeply religious ; 
he is an angel now. He suffered very much. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


155 


Mr. Henry alone among human beings possessed 
bis entire confidence, and was bis comforter in bis 
sad life and early death.- Edward’s conduct 
toward bis brothers and sister was faultless — ^to me 
far more kind than the strictest virtue asked. My 
father was a clergyman, and left me, bis only child 
an orphan, poor and motherless. Edward took me 
to his home, and I shared in advantages which in 
themselves are wealth. I was then fourteen, and I 
was seventeen at his death. Greorge succeeded to 
the title, and came to town, being strongly inter- 
ested in politics. To his unspeakable dehght, Mr. 
Henry consented to remain with him awhile: a 
privilege for which George is deeply grateful.” 

I knew he was private secretary to Lord Ailye 
in town : he speaks of him as the most generous 
of patrons and the best and kindest of friends.” 

^‘Patrons! friends! George is ‘hardly twenty- 
two. He is indeed, though I say it who am his 
cousin, a very charming person ; so good, and so 
superior — ^in short, so unlike most young men at 
his age, that I am surprised — at least I wish — 
should have hoped Mr. Henry might have thought 
him worthy — 

“ Worthy I of what does not my brother think 
his benefactor worthy ?” 

“ Of an introduction to his family — ^to his sis- 
ter.” 


156 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


*‘He is an exile, and as snch lie has no ties, no 
family, no name.” 

Do not speak so cruelly. Miss Henry. George 
cares not the least for general society ; he is simple 
in his tastes, and still a hard student of what only 
a man can learn. You would like him, I fancy.” 

“Liking or not liking is unknown by us: there 
is no liberty for us but to exist ; and that not where 
life is freedom. When a brighter day shall dawn, 
it will be time to speak of making acquaintances, 
of enjoyment — of pleasure, as well as duty ; and 
that morning may never dawn.” 

“ It must come at last, however long the night. 
All Europe groans and prays for it. You are not 
the only slaves — I beg your pardon, sufferers : I, 
for one, often pluck at my own chains, and long to 
loosen them. However, Miss Henry, to leave such 
thoughts in their own shade, 1 must tell you that I 
was once naughty enough to tell Mr. Henry I did 
not believe his name was Henry ; for I found no 
affinity between its termination and the perpetual 
‘ owski ’ and ‘ eski.’ He smilingly rebuked me by 
reminding me of Piast and Jagollen, names which 
end neitherwise ; and the royal consonants led to a 
feast of golden legends.” 

“ Our name is not Henry : but I can not tell it 
you. I would have you know that my brother is 
obliged to hide a pure and noble name only because 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


157 


lie is more pure and noble tban bis name ; not 
because be is afraid to bear that name, or incapable 
of further ennobling it.” 

A diamond drop trembled upon ber cbeek ; sbe 
wiped that single tear off hastily, and resumed with 
soft politeness — ‘ ‘ Y on said you bad business with me, 
and I have been so rude as not to inquire what it is.” 

My business is to inquire whether I may know 
you when I am of age. I am yet in bondage — ■ 
then I hope to be free.” 

Do not call it bondage,” sbe said, very gently, 
“ for you do not know what that is.” 

I mean no 15se majeste against the relation who 
rules over me : it is very proper that sbe should 
rule. I only mean that I can not do as I wish. 
I can be of use to none ; and have no aim in life. 
But as I intend to remain single, I shall hope to do 
something, somehow.” 

She bent upon me her beautiful eyes as though 
she questioned my sincerity. 

“I have often dreamed of friendship,” I re- 
sumed, “ but never of love in marriage.” 

Still she looked gravely at me. “ My dear Miss 
Keynolds,” she replied, ‘tif you were fourteen when 
my brother knew you first, and that is but four 
years past, it is not likely that you should know any 
thing about love : either the dream or the reality.” 

“ I assure you that girls here marry at my age ; 


158 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


and if before that age, so mncb tbe greater eclat 
surrounds their settlement.” 

“I am quite aware of such things. In most 
cases it does not signify; but you are a many- 
folded character. There are single and double 
flowers, and surely a convolvulus expands more 
easily than a rose.” 

“And shuts more easily tool A very pretty 
idea. I wish I were like a rose, but I am much 
more like a primrose; and that, you know, is 
doomed to ‘ die unmarried.’ However, whether I 
be plucked from the virgin thorn or left to wither 
thereon, may I know you when I am of age ? You 
will not encounter any worldly obstacles in my 
acquaintance, as my means will only compass a 
bee-hive in the depths of the country, or a cup- 
board in town.” 

“It would be the sweetest pleasure I ever 
promised myself ; but I dare not even promise : I 
must only hope. How, my dear Miss Eeynolds, 
I must ask you whether your friend. Lady Barres, 
knows you are here ?” 

“ Of course she does not. I shall return exulting, 
to receive joyfully her sentence of excommunication 
from the ranks of propriety forever. But what can 
you know of Lady Barres?” 

“ My brother has spoken of her ladyship to me.” 

“ Tell me whether he approves of her, pray.” 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


159 


He has not taken the liberty of discussing her 
in any way, you may be sure : he merely men- 
tioned her ladyship as your guardian.” 

And never mentioned George ! • However, I 
can pardon any body any thing to-day, for I have 
seen the first person I ever wished to know. I 
must, indeed, run home as fast as possible ; and if 
Lady Barres turns me out of doors I shall run 
back to you still faster.” 

Stay, stay I” Miss Henry exclaimed, with com- 
manding dignity, “you must not go alone: my 
aunt is waiting to take you back, for she told me 
^o. How farewell, dear Miss Eeynolds ! I am very 
happy to have seen your sweet face once, and shall 
remember it always ; even though we may never 
meet again, except where all are free.”. 

I threw myself into her arms. “ Good-by, sweet 
angel,” I cried. “Yet don’t for a moment imagine 
that I shall be resigned enough not to expect to see 
you ; ay, and know you too whether you like me 
or not. But, excuse me, I can not walk home with 
that awful person : she is worse than the ghost of 
Maria Theresa.” 

“ For my sake, my dear Miss Eeynolds I Con- 
sider, that as Lady Barres was not at home to see 
you go out ahne^ she may feel less hurt if she only 
sees you return under protection. Do not commit 
a double error.” 


160 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


“ Then you think I committed one: is it unpar- 
donable ?” 

“ There are two sides to such a fault. I pardon 
it, but you know she can not. You certainly did 
wrong to come 1” Still she smiled so sweetly that 
her stern words charmed me; and I replied, “I 
will do just as you please.” 

I went with the ghost of Maria Theresa, who 
really behaved like such a thing ; for though she 
was so fine and courtly, she made me walk before 
her, and kept up close behind me a stiff and silent 
march. She would not answer me when I spoke; 
and as she wore a calash drawn forward over her 
face, she appeared an incognita: as I believe she 
meant to be. She made me pull the bell, and 
stood so that the man who opened the door could 
see her figure, but nothing of her face : only her 
spectacles, far back in the gloaming of her calash, 
which made her look like an owl. She did not 
even rqurmur good morning to me, her victim ; and 
I fancied Bhe wished the servants to think she was 
herself a servant. 

Savage was on the landing ; triumphant malice 
danced under his meek yellow eyelashes. I knew 
there would be a scene and a scene there was ; I 
owed its moderation to Lord Normanville, who 
was of course watching Lady Barres as she lay in 
calm hysterics upon the sofa. No sobs, nor screamg^ 




MY FIRST SEASON. 


161 


nor laughter ; only showers of the softest tears, ex- 
quisite exhaustion, and languid tenderness. She 
was so entirely convinced I had gone out to drown 
myself, and so certain I had rushed upon suicide 
because I was not as happy under her roof as I 
deserved to be, that for some time nothing could 
convince her she saw before her eyes any thing of 
me except my wraith. 

Lord Normanville, who had, in common with 
most military and all naval officers, a most invin- 
cible propensity to indulge women, even in their 
weakness, was waiting upon her ladyship with 
every assiduity of affection. He soothed, he pet- 
ted, he rallied — he seemed to think her circum- 
stances the loveliest that can invest her sex ; and 
at last he succeeded for the time, and I was al- 
lowed to go down to dinner. But, oh I the evil 
eyes which peered into my bedroom that night : 
though sweet smiles graced* the- lips, the passion 
which spoke in soft words, was of such power "that 
I shook beneath them hkeareedi But^ough 
Lady Barres bent she could not break me : I would 
not tell her where I had been. I endured “in 
dogged silence,” as she called it, her innuendo, that 
pierced as the thorn beneath the rose — ^her soft 
soft sneer, that melted like sweet poison in the 
veins — ^the suggestion of infamy, which her accents 
set to music. I could only thank God that no one 


162 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


except the ghost of Maria Theresa knew where I 
had been. However, though I told her I would 
perish before I revealed my secret, I took care to 
assert my own innocence ; and I begged her pardon 
besides, for an act of disobedience, which I con- 
fessed. 

I do not in my heart believe that Lady Barres 
would have cared whether I had done right or 
wrong, prudently or indiscreetly, she was only 
desperately curious : it maddened her, as it mad- 
dens many a' mere woman, not to be as well ac- 
quainted with the affairs of another as is that other 
herself. She went to bed at last, or rather she left 
my room — ^because I pretended to be asleep ; and 
next morning it suited her to be very touchingly 
forgiving ; all tenderness again ; she even begged 
my pardon for having hurt my feelings the night 
before. 


CHAPTER XII. 


I WAS of course very anxious to see my cousin 
George, and I got one good thing out of Lady 
Barres’s engagement ; for George first made a call 
of ceremonious congratulation upon her ladyship, 
and then sent her an invitation to dinner, includ- 
ing his sister and me. 

George had not been idle since he came to 
town ; he had engaged with extraordinary energy 
in the studies and party views, an insight into 
which necessarily precedes an active interest in 
politics. The face of affairs at that time had begun 
to assume the sinister expression which has con- 
tinued to increase until the present ; so that, then 
as now, a conscientious political career was the 
most dangerous and heroic, as well as the most 
fascinating and difficult, in which man may dare 
success. 

Mr. Henry lived with George, ostensibly acting 
as his secretary, actually being his adviser, friend, 
and better self — still, through all the sympathy 
they shared, his master. I was curious to know 


164 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


whetlier Mr. Henrj had as religiously refrained 
from mentioning his sister to his pupil as his pupil 
to his sister. 

George’s dinner was one of those auspicious hut 
dull occasions when the relations of a lady who is 
about to be married meet the relations of the gen- 
tleman she is about to marry ; therefore, however 
superior, the company was small and select. Be- 
sides our hrilliant selves, there were present, of 
Lord Norman ville’s connections the following : a 
long-fingered girl, whose gloves rucked upon her 
arms. Lord Normanville’s uncle’s daughter and 
only child ; the uncle, a duke in his dotage, who 
could not feed himself, not being present; the 
horrid Hugh de Brabazone ; Hugh de Brabazone’s 
mother’s sister, a scraggy hag in velvet, decolhitee^ 
who rattled away like a school-girl ; her husband, 
a rich commoner, with a body like a rolling-pin, 
and using an ear-trumpet; two young men, and 
two girls — a nest of orphans, cousins of Lord Nor- 
man ville, who was their guardian— the young men 
shy and underbred, the girls underbred and bold, 
but all rich, and born without the average of 
brains. 

Of Lady Barres’s ' connections who graced the 
table there were the dowager-duchess, no near rela- 
tive, but what the bride-elect called “a christening 
connection” — ^that is, her son’s godmother ; Lady 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


165 


Barres’s aunt, an envoy’s wife who had left her hus- 
band abroad, and returned to England with two 
daughters whom she had failed to settle out there, 
trusting — though her worn face negatived the idea 
she cherished — ^to settle them over here ; her two 
daughters, with yellow skins, in white satin ; and 
her son, whose father had secured him an appoint- 
ment in a foreign city, and who, having disgraced 
himself therein, had been by its authorities for- 
warded to his mother-country. Lastly, a clergy- 
man of rank, who had married the eldest daughter 
of the envoy’s wife. He was, however, a widower, 
and though he was to have the honor of perform- 
ing the ceremony which should turn Lady Barres 
into the Countess of Normanville, he made at her 
such melancholy grimaces that it was apparent he 
would have preferred the part of bride-groom to 
that of priest. In revenge, he drank much wine, 
smiled upon his plate, and treated the younger la- 
dies present with sublime indifference. 

George’s house had an aspect of perfect ele- 
gance; being equally free from the unsociable 
comfort of a bachelor’s chambers and the showy 
extravagance indicative of a reckless life. The 
dining-room was plain and rich, the drawing-room 
delicate and sparkling. 

Mr. Henry was not at table ; but when the gen- 
tlemen rejoined us after dinner, I saw him enter 


166 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


also. I could not get at George, wlio was leading 
the long-fingered girl to his new piano, having re- 
quested her to thaw the keys for him ; so I ven- 
tured to bow to Mr. Henry, to whom none of the 
guests had spoken. He returned my greeting in- 
stantly, and, crossing the room, seated himself be- 
side me, to my great surprise and pleasure. The 
disgraced heir of the envoy had seated himself on 
my other hand ; but . Mr. Henry asked me, in a 
grave voice, some question about Lassala’s “ His- 
tory of the Castilian Poets,” which drove the ex- 
attache as far as., possible out of our way. The 
moment we were alone, Mr. Henry said, in the 
same tone of voice, “ I have a favor to ask of Miss 
Eeynolds.” “ Name it,” replied that young lady, 
under the impression that she was about to be lec- 
tured for letting her intelligence stagnate. “Will 
you oblige me,” he went on, “ by making a prom- 
ise to tell no person that I have a sister, or that 
you have seen her.” 

This was charming I Even Guy Fawkes had 
time to arrange his faggots and secrete his lantern 
before his plot was discovered ; I had not so much 
as organized mine. 

“Keally,” I replied, “I can not exactly promise 
that, Mr. Henry ; but I promise to tell no person 
who would presume upon the information.” 

His eye kindled, and his lip curled. 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


167 


‘‘Yon are a child,” lie retorted, “ or you would* 
not trifle so far as to make an exception : whicli 
indeed, I may remind you, you have no right to 
maj^e. I might remind you that I could command 
your secrecy, yet I only request ; and it is not like 
a woman to deny what- it has cost me so much to 
ask you.” 

“Oh, I did not mean to refuse any thing you 
have a right to ask ; but I think you might trust 
me without a promise.” 

“ No — for I am well aware that you will keep a 
promise, yet that nothing less will bind you.” 

I felt piqued, and could not answer. He waited 
a minute, and then resumed, his accents trem- 
bling. 

“ I beseech you, with the deepest concern and 
anxiety, to promise me : give me the word which 
it is necessary I should hear.” 

“ But I must have time to breathe : it is not ne- 
cessary in my case.” 

“ Imminently so I Your word — ^this moment.” 

“ Kidiculous ! it is not a matter of life or 
death!” 

“ It is a matter of peace and conscience — far more 
precious to me. Say I am selfish, if you please : 
but it is not so 1 You might consider how painful 
it is to me to sit beside you in this company ; how 
much more painful to ask you again, and over 


168 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


•again, what your lips might have prevented my 
asking more tl^n once — that once being sufficient, 
as you should have known.” 

“ Do not be so angry, Mr. Henry ! It seemed 
such a storm about a trifle, that I wanted to ask 
you the reason.” 

‘^It is you who have raised the storm — the trifle 
had been easily dismissed. As for the reason, 
I thought you had been above the only foible of 
your sex : but had you asked it, I should not have 
answered.” 

And yet you expect me to promise.” 

“ I did expect : — I expect no longer ; I humbly 
entreat.” 

“Just tell me first whether your sister told you 
I was so rude.” 

“ I will tell you nothing till I have your prom- 
ise.” 

“ I did not mean to tell any one” — I was going to 
add, “ except George ;” but George was just passing 
by, leading the long-fingered young lady, and when 
he had gone out of hearing I had collected myself 
sufficiently to perceive the imprudence of mention- 
ing his name, even if I had any right to do so— 
which I had not. 

“ Do not be so wayward and so cruel ! I did not 
think you could keep any one in suspense and paiq 
so wilfully.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


169 


This time his glance was sad : I am ashamed to 
say that pathos moves me more than manly deter- 
mination. 

‘^What then am I to promise, Mr. Henry ?” 

“ That yon will tel] no one I have a sister, or 
that yon have seen her.” 

“ The first danse inclndes the second.” 

“ Well, the first, then — promise qnicldy.” 

I remembered Portia’s version of the ponnd of 
flesh, and my woman’s wit suggested it was easy to 
promise and perform it too, without marring 
the plot I had half designed. So I said, with much 
solemnity, “ I promise to tell no one yon have a 
sister ; and if yon are pleased to require it, I .will 
take mine oath.” ' 

He devoured my words. ‘^1 thank yon very 
gratefully —your word is all-sufficient. And 
now” — ^with a manner that changed to spring 
from winter in a moment — “let me thank yon 
still more gratefully for your kindness to my sister.” 

“ Then let me thank yon for having such a sis- 
ter ; she is so exquisitely beautiful and good.” 

“Having thanked you, I shall ask yon not to 
mention her again. Let me inquire into your 
studies: how advances Eunic, the many in the 
one?” 

I am getting on a little — ^that is, very badly — 
by myself,” 


8 


170 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


Then off we went upon the stream of Northern 
literature, and discussed Walhalla till I wished 
there had never been a hero born of woman. I 
let him say a great deal, and then I boldly in- 
serted, “You must tell me whether she told 
you I went ? You deny me both grammar and 
breeding I” 

“ No one told me : my ear whispered it to my 
brain. In other words, I knew your footsteps be- 
hind us.” ^ 

“You knew my footsteps!” 

“ That is a very savage accomplishment ; the 
normal tribes of America know friend from foe, 
and man from brute, by the tread^ — and that, too, 
roods away.” 

“ But how could you know I followed, after you 
had left me at home.” 

“ I turned the corner of a street, and went into a 
shop ; for, knowing your disposition, I feared you 
would again return. ’ I saw you; and I watched 
you safely into the house ; also I saw you brought 
forth again, under protection which made it un- 
necessary for me to offer mine.” 

Then we talked of books again, and poetry, and 
art : which last I hated till Mr. Henry had shown 
me its relation to philosophy and science. Pres- 
ently George, who had certainly contrived to 
make every body talk, came and stood for a minute 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


171 


# 


by my side. “I have scarcely seen your face, 
Bice, but I have been thinking about you : I knew 
you were being entertained better than any body 
else. And what do you think of my house, fur- 
nished under the auspices of two single gentle- 
men ?” 

“ I think it charming : nay, it is perfect.” 

Kot perfect — ^it is what man was when created, 
but before he breathed — ^it wants a soul.” 

“ You are mysterious : there is nothing wanting 
so far as I can see, except that it is a London 
house.” 

“ I should like a lady it it, Beatrice ;” he 
whispered playfully, “but I can not marry.” 

“ Why, in the name of all that is possible, not? 
I was well-pleased with this opportunity of glanc- 
ing at Mr. Henry ; he would not look at me, how- 
ever, only at Greorge. George laughed, and in 
answer to my question, “ Only for one reason,” 
said he, “I can not find any one I should like, or 
who would hke me.” 

“ Too modest and too honest,” observed Mr. 
Henry : ‘ ‘ there is a mental reservation, be very sure.” 

“ If all marriages .were as conveniently arranged 
as between parties who know exactly what they 
do want,” answered George, looking toward the 
sofa on which Lady Barres and Lord Hormanville 
were sitting, “ it would be very easy : but then I 


172 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


% 


suppose we should not care about it ; for I remem- 
ber, Mr. Henry, you told me once I preferred 
climbing the balusters to walking straight up the 
stairs 1 However, you must help me here -as you 
have done through every thing else — first teach 
me what I want, and then supply it I” 

I could see that George spoke in perfect sim- 
plicity : he knew not as much as I did. 

“ Every thing in its season, my dear lord,” re- 
plied Mr. Henry, lightly. “We do not gather 
roses until June in this climate, and your April is 
not yet past.” 

“ The time for caprice and fancy, smiles and 
sighs. I plead innocent, even of moods so charm- 
ing.” And as he spoke he left us. I waited an 
instant, and then observed, “I hope George has 
not disappointed your expectations, Mr. Henry I” 

“ He has crowned my utmost hopes. I believe 
that his career will transcend, and his life excel, 
even my expectations ; which are very high. Miss 
Eeynolds. He is truly virtuous, and will be truly 
great.” 

“I thought — I feared, that you did not think 
him worthy of an introduction to your sister, as 
you have not introduced him, nor even mentioned 
her.” 

His piercing eye searched my countenance, to 
my confusion. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


173 


“ Once for all,” lie said, very seriously — “ for I 
will not again be brought to the subject — do not 
■wish my sister to see Lord Ailye. I believe you 
have good sense, as I am sure you have generosity 
enough, to refrain from enforcing any more con- 
fidence — I will not give it.” 

It is my dreadful disposition always to feel 
saucy when I am lectured, even though I merit 
the sermon, as I certainly did that night. 

Do not be vexed, Mr. Henry ! I will never 
even ask it ; as to enforcing, it is very tyrannical 
of you to say I did so^ I hope you will forgive 
my unlucky sincerity. I must have been born 
under one of the morning stars while it was sing- 
ing, for I never can hold my tongue when I am 
happy ; and seeing your sister has made me hap- 
pier than I ever remember to have been : though I 
should be most unhappy were I never to see her 
again. I think she will let me.” 

“You have it not in your power to make or 
seek acquaintances, Miss Eeynolds : it is as much 
your duty to submit to the utmost restraint which 
is now imposed upon you, as it will be your duty 
when you are fully formed, to submit to no con- 
straint of your principles or your opinions; for 
then these will be also formed and ready for fruition.” 

“ Suppose they should form wrong, and I should 
run wild altogether.” 


174 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


“ That will be your own fault I but it is as im- 
possible as that I should again grow young I” . 

It may seem strange that Lady Barres allowed 
me to sit by Mr. Henry, and talk to him so long ; 
but she was only too thankful that he should be 
interposed, body and mind, between Lord ISTor- 
manville and me. And. she told me when we 
were driving home, that Mr. Henry and I looked 
charming side by side. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


Perhaps persons who have no romance on their 
own accounts, are all the more romantic on behalf 
of others: I know I was, and am still. I lay- 
awake nearly until morning, searching every ave- 
nue of possibiiities through which George might 
meet Miss Henry. For, not to be obtuse — which 
is to be abhorred of all readers, and justly too — I 
quite understood why Mr. Henry did not wish his 
sister to see my cousin. Ho preternatural acute- 
ness this of mine ; my natural sympathy with Mr. 
Henry was the cause : in his place I should have 
acted the same. He knew his sister to be ex- 
quisitely adapted to his pupil, and I felt, perhaps 
too proudly, that George was worthy of her. Mr. 
Henry, in fact, wished to save his own pride and 
his sister’s peace at once ; and had I not been sure 
he wanted to save Ms pride, I might not have felt 
so anxious to disturb her peace. So I laid every 
faggot neatly, and trimmed my lantern, before I 
went to sleep. 

Lady Barres had a box at the opera which she 


176 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


never used ; as some irreligious persons liave pews 
in their parish churches which they never enter. 

I had only been once to the opera, and then felt 
disappointed ; but I was glad I had been once, be- 
cause it gave me the option of going again without 
being wondered at. As May warmed into earliest 
June, balls and parties thickened, and dinners, 
thinned. LadyBarres, who had dined every where 
with Lord Normanville, began to dance instead; 
and now Eowena invariably accompanied her, to 
meet the horrid Hugh de Brabazone. 

I watched all invitations and replies, and at 
length selected an evening on which Lady Barres 
had three engagements from home — an opera-night, 
but not a house-night. Hext I laid siege to the 
heart of Burnett, Lady Barres’s fag, as she may be 
remembered — a person I had never noticed except 
to thank her for giving me cups of tea. She was 
employed in Lady Barres’s dressing-room, all hours 
at work — no one knows, out of the charmed circle, 
how stingy are some fine ladies — at work upon the 
lawn and cambric which form the substratum of 
the trousseau. French patterns, of course, she had ; ' 
one for every thing : but how many dreary im- 
pressions had to be taken from that proof! 

While Lady Barres was driving, I went to her 
dressing-room, condoled with the enslaved semp- 
stress, then fetched my thimble and worked with 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


177 


her; much to her astonishment, which deepened 
into gratitude. We got on so well, that we had 
finished what Lady Barres expected to see ready, 
long before we knew she would return ; and then 
I coaxed Burnett to put her bonnet on and go out 
with me for a walk. First I beguiled her into a 
confectioner’s shop, and fed her upon tarts unto 
repletion; and then I got her into an immense 
music-shop, and while she was looking at the fierce 
portrait of a professional hero of that day, I pur- 
chased a box on the third tier ; taking care first to 
examine a plan of the opera-house, that I might 
secure one as nearly as possible opposite to that of 
Lady Barres’s; and as the performance I had 
selected was of date a week to come, I. succeeded. 

I continued to assist Burnett all the week, and 
was obliged, at last, to give myself airs to prevent 
her from thinking I liked her desperately ; which 
was not the case. The very day before the per- 
formance and Lady Barres’s triple engagement, I 
sent the box-ticket to Miss Henry, inclosed in a 
note which I slipped into the post while Burnett 
was walking with me. First I had thought to en- 
treat Miss Henry to be present at the opera that 
night, and in the box reserved for her ; but I soon 
reversed that intention, fearing she would suspect 
me of having another motive than to give her 
pleasure. I therefore, simply requested her to 
8 * 


178 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


accept the ticket, and assured her she should not 
be intruded upon by me. Then I asked Burnett 
to escort me to Lady Barres’s everlastingly empty 
box ; there was no difficulty with her, except to 
prevent her from kissing me on the spot. Next, I 
had to ask Lady Barres’s permission to go with 
Burnett; and my guardian was so pleased I had 
taken a fancy to “ low society,” in Burnett’s person, 
that she made no demur, only observing that she 
never knew what the eccentric little person would 
^ do next. 

Lastly, I wrote to George, and requested him to 
come to Lady Barres’s box next evening for five 
minutes; intimating that I should be also in it, 
and that I should be pleased to see him. I was 
obliged to ask him to come ahne^ lest he should 
take a fancy to bring Mr. Henry : that was all I 
feared, knowing well that if his sister had not 
mentioned to him my visit to her, she would not 
tell him of my having sent her the box. It never 
occurred to me that George might think it odd I 
should beg him to come alone; as it seemed to my- 
self very natural, because I was not thinking of 
myself. 

The evening came ; Lady Barres went out with 
Eowena, and Burnett came down stairs dressed, 
to make me coffee before I went. She was habited 
in a white watered silk dress which Lady Barres 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


179 


had worn thrice, with a cornelian necklace, and a 
full-blown rose upon the top of her head seemed 
to grow out of a very high comb ; she carried an 
opera-glass in a black case, which she had hired 
of the maid L’Estrange, who had borrowed it 
from Lord Normanville’s valet: also, she grinned 
like a shark, and was perfumed with Portugal 
water. 

We got safely into Lady Barres’s box about the 
middle of the overture, and I was disappointed at 
perceiving that the box nearly opposite was empty ; 
it made me feel like itself, a blank. It yet glared 
in vacancy before my eyes when the curtain drew 
up. I neither saw nor heard any thing that fol- 
lowed, and I had given up George, as well as Miss 
Henry, in five minutes ; -such was the impatience 
of my disappointment. Yery soon, however, 
George glided in, full dressed ; but almost breath- 
less : he told me he had only received my sum- 
mons an hour before, “ which I instantly obeyed, 
with the greatest pleasure,” he added. But though 
far too polished to express or show surprise, I 
could see him glance furtively at me while I was 
gazing across the house, still upon vacancy ; and 
in terror lest he should only stay five minutes, as I 
had asked him, I was endeavoring to invent a 
reason for my request, when he observed, did 
not dare to bring Mr. Henry, as I should have liked 


180 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


to do, Bice, for I fancied you would be full. There 
is plenty of room, I see, however.” 

I was terribly annoyed, and fearing now that he 
might even fetch Mr. Henry, I began to chatter. 
I endeavored to be witty, and was of course ab- 
surd : I ridiculed the performers, even quizzed the 
prima donna, whom I had named in order to en- 
tice him when I wrote ; I rattled nonsense and 
raved aesthetics. Still the opposite box was empty. 
I felt my cheeks burn warmer and warmer, and at 
last George even loolced surprised ; his color deep- 
ened too. I did not mind what he thought : I did 
not yet despair! At last I was rewarded : at the 
close of the second act, I saw two forms glide into 
the empty box and take their places, silent as the 
shapes that change in a dream; and one more 
lovely than ever visionary angel shone. 

The ghost of Maria Theresa was the second form 
as I had expected. She looked like Cinderella’s 
godmother, a scarlet fairy ; being folded from head 
to foot in a red mantle, from a foreign loom, edged 
with the richest fur. Her spectacles gleamed like 
the watchful eyes of a mild and harmless dragon. 
Miss Henry looked — ^how fair! in a white dress 
that vailed her arms and bust, yet could not hide the 
grace of her slight but majestic figure. She wore 
no jewel, nor a single flower to mar the violet radi’ 
ance of her eyes and the rich bloom of her lips. One 




MY FIEST SEASON. 


181 


moment site stood erect, then leaned forward slightly ; 
many lorgnettes were turned from the stage toward 
the dazzling apparition. Then most suddenly, 
though gracefully, she shrunk back into the shade, 
and took her ^eat in the furthest corner of the box. 
The scarlet fairy turned, and menaced with her 
glittering eyes every face as far as she could see. 

But before Miss Henry had retreated, George had 
seized my arm. “ See, see I” he exclaimed in an 
impetuous whisper: “Look, look! How exquis* 
itely, ravishingly beautiful. How strange — ^more 
than strange 1 Hot the beauty, but the likeness. 
Look, Bice, look I Tell me who she is like.” 

I was scared. I had thought he might be sud- 
denly struck, perhaps permanently affected by her 
beauty ; but it had never occurred to me that he 
would recognize the likeness to her brother. It 
was a startling likeness, and I had felt it too ; but 
I did not think a man so young as George would 
have traced it, because the beauty of Mr. Henry’s 
face was marred by strong lines of thought and 
melancholy, and wasted by suspense and suffering : 
hers was bright as a lily freshly blossomed, and 
softly molded as a pearl. Besides, he was much 
her senior ; and it might be the foreign, cast of fea- 
tures, perfect in themselves, rather than their actual 
beauty, which made them seem so much alike. 

However, to return to George. I had not replied 


182 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


at first ; nor did it seem to signify, for he raved on to 
himself: His sister — ^it must be : yet it can not be. 
How can it ? His image — ^but the face is divine ! 
And what color on earth, or rather in heaven, are 
her eyes ? Do tell me. Bice, for yon see she conrts 
the shade.” 

“ I believe them to be blue, so far as I could 
judge from such a distance. Who is it then, you 
think her like?” Yery coolly I spoke, but he 
turned round and stared upon me. 

“Eeally — actually, you pretend you do not 
know !” 

“ How should I know, when you did not tell 
me ? She is perfectly beautiful ; I never saw her 
equal,” 

“You surprise me ! Indeed I can not believe 
you do not know : his face is as familiar to you as 
to me.” 

“ Oh; it is Mr. Henry you mean. I do see a 
national resemblance ; you know how beautiful are 
the Polish women — their noble women ; and doubt- 
less she is one.” 

“Bice, Mr. Henry is acquainted with all the 
Poles in this country, women as well as men : he 
has told me so. He would have mentioned her to 
me ; for the beauty of his countrywomen is a favor- 
ite theme of his. And how is it that they are alone ? 
No, lam certain, positively sure that she is related 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


183 


to him : I must discover the fact. I have it I” — he 
exclaimed next moment. “Do not fear, Bice: I 
will return to you ; but I shall go to the box and 
present my card to that witch in a red cloak, and 
ask her whether the name of her protegee is Henry. 
If she negatives, why it is very simple : I can make 
a thousand apologies for mistaking one lady for 
another, bow coldly, and retreat. I go this 
moment.” » 

And he would have gone, if I had not stopped 
him. His impetuosity had made me dumb ; I had 
never given him credit for an impetuous nature, 
and scarcely knew how to deal with this outbreak. 
In an unguarded moment, I said “ you could not 
find out ; for Henry is not his real name.” The im 
stant I said so, I condemned myself. Greorge 
turned to me in very natural surprise. “ Hot his 
real name ? Did he tell you so the other evening? 
You looked mysterious both of you, I saw that. 
For heaven’s sake tell me what his name is then, if 
you know I” 

“ I do not know, George : we were not speaking 
about his name the other night. But I remember 
that at Ashleigh we said we thought it could not 
be Henry.” 

“ I don’t remember saying it : I am sure I never 
thought sol” 

“I did, then; and I took it for granted 


184 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


that you agreed with me, because we always 
agreed.” 

“ Then pray let us agree now, Bice ; so don’t 
thwart me.” 

You had better not go, George ; excuse 
me !” 

“ My tiny Thalestris of old times, why what fiend 
of fear has spirited away your courage-? Can you 
not*trust me in my own hands ?” 

“Listen to me, George; it will be of no 
avail. That ladybird will give you no informa- 
tion. She is insane ; I know it by the glare of 
her eyes.” 

“ Then I will salute the white lady herself, which 
I should prefer.” 

“ George, dear George, listen to me. It would 
be very imprudent ; for once, oblige me by confid- 
ing in my prudence ; you shall not repent of it in 
the end.” 

He looked at me with a curious expression, 
half saucy, half gentle: more curiously stfil he 
gazed ; his eyes searched every lineament of my 
face. I suppose my countenance paled; and I 
was very uncomfortable, fearing he would ask 
what reward I offered “ in the end.” But no, to 
my great rehef he settled himself in his seat, say- 
ing in a sweet though melancholy voice ; “I will 
not do it. Bice ; for I respect your prudence as 


MY FIRST SEASON. 185 

mucli as I admire your spirit. In trutli ” — he added 
playfully — “you might call me to. account ^or 
acting the part of a carpet-knight so ill ; a box is a 
drawing-room in miniature, and I came to see you 
here I” 

I was much reheved, but could not make him out. 
He devoted himself to me entirely from that mo- 
ment, till the curtain fell, and did not once look 
over at the other box. . We did not stay for the 
ballet, nor did the lady and the ladybird. George 
did not even glance, as we went out, to see whether 
they were gone ; and he drove home with us to 
Lady Barres’s door. 

When alone again, I felt no remorse. I had 
made no actual compromise with conscience ; 
having only tested my own discrimination. I 
had intended, if George admired Miss Henry, to 
follow it up, of course ; though I had not decided 
how: and if he had not admired her, aU would 
have remained as it was before. My experiment 
had not faded; it had succeeded only too well. 
I knew not how to act. I dreaded lest George, 
who had no secrets from his friend, should 
describe Miss Henry to her brother, and that Mr. 
Henry should interpret my promise to imply aU 
he meant it to include : feeling sure that in such 
case, however, he would immediately communicate 
with me. So I went to sleep and dreamed of Lady 


186 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


Barres in gold spectacles, and Grcorge muffled up 
in a red cloak, carrying me between them into 
Westminster Hall ; where I saw Mr. Henry with a 
calash on, and heard him make a speech full of the 
terrors of the law. 

Hext day, however, I heard nothing, and saw 
nothing : no note from Greorge, nor stately appari- 
tion of George’s friend. I felt very blank, and a 
fool for my pains : so again the next day, and the 
next. Miss Henry had not written to me, either ; 
but then I had earnestly entreated her not to write, 
and she was too sincere a person to do what you 
asked her not. Four days afterward, when I had 
given every thing up, George called in the after- 
noon ; Lady Barres was out, I was at home, alone. 
He was shown into the drawing-room, and I went 
to him. Yery singular were my sensations for the 
first few minutes. 

He sat down beside me, fixed his eyes upon the 
carpet, drew out his pocket-handkerchief and re- 
turned it to his pocket ; took out a pocket-book, 
opened it, shut it as if he had made a mistake, and 
pocketed it again ; then he rose and walking to the 
mantleshelf, began to trifle with the lusters. It. 
struck me that this silence and embarrassment 
were attributable to the excitement which he had 
betrayed in my presence about Miss Henry, and 
I wished him to know that I did most fully sympa- 


# 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


187 


tMze witli him now, I went and stood by bis side. 
He was trembling violently ; bis eyes were down- 
cast. I toncbed bis arm gently — ^be turned and 
murmured ; tben spoke wild words, cruel in tbeir 
kindness! earnest but cold! And wilder words 
were answered ; my soul put forth its powers : one 
man at least that hour read a woman’s inmost heart, 
and learned its secrets. * * * An hour after- 
ward we still talked; very differently, however. 
The calm was restored to that stream of full confi- 
dence, which never accident before or since has 
ruffled. I could not tell Greorge any thing he did 
not know, as far as the knowledge of Mr. Henry’s 
having a sister was concerned ; for he declared he 
knew that the lady he had seen was to be identified. 
However, it was in vain he teased or entreated me 
to tell him how I first became acquainted with her: 
for I had confessed so much, though not that I 
knew who she was. It was necessary I should ex- 
plain that I had invited George to behold her at the 
opera, or I could not have succeeded — ^noble-heart- 
ed as he was — in convincing him I did not invite 
him on my own account. I also took care to in- 
fuse into my cousin a behef in the fact of my hav- 
ing wished *^ 67 * to behold him. Still' I would not, 
and did not name her : I did not even hint that 
Mr. Henry had extracted from me a promise of 
secrecy ; nor did I mention him to George, until 


188 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


tlie end of our conversation. Seeing him at last 
look anxious and rather dejected, as though he saw 
not how to compass an introduction to the lady 
who had touched his fancy ; I took pity upon his 
perplexity, and said : 

Now, George, I have a favor to ask you. Will 
you manage Lady Barres so that you can take me 
home to-night to dine with you ; for I must see 
Mr. Henry, and you must be present while I do 
so.” 

Mr. Henry is then obviously concerned I” he 
exclaimed. 

“ I have not told you so ! I do not wish to see 
him until quite the evening,” 

Accordingly, when Lady Barres came in, George 
told her he was going to carry me off to dinner at 
his house, as he wished me to meet a lady of his 
acquaintance. He alluded to his new housekeeper, 
who had arrived that morning I so he told me af-. 
terward. 

George delicately permitted me to dine alone, 
and after dinner he brought Mr. Henry into the 
drawing-room. I waited for George to speak, and 
he for me. At length, seeing Mr. Henry move 
toward the door, as though he thought himself in 
the way, I gasped forth, ♦‘Will you stay ? I have 
something to tell you, and so has George.” 

Back he came, and sat down between us, look- 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


189 


ing expectantly from one to tlie other. Having 
begun, I -went on bravely. 

George has seen your sister, Mr. Henry, and it 
was tbrougb. my instrumentality ; but I sacredly 
kept my promise.” 

He turned to me with a stern gaze : anger and 
pain darkened bis countenance. 

“Just bear me, Mr. Henry! bear bow I kept 
my word, and gratified my pique at once : for I 
was very angry with you for refusing to let George 
see ber 1” 

He rose from tbe sofa, and began to pace tbe 
room, slowly and proudly. I began to be afraid 
lest George should fear bis anger, as did not L 

“ Pray consider tbe circumstances of tbe case, 
Mr. Henry. An opportunity of seeing tbe most 
beautiful angel in tbe world was all I afforded 
George ; - for this part of tbe blame I take to my- 
. self. I did not prepare George ; I did not excite 
bis imagination. I might have done all this, you 
know; but I left, it all to destiny.” 

“Tusbl” murmured be, and turned again to 
walk. 

“I thought Miss Henry would like to bear 
Pasta, and I sent ber an order. I did not even en- 
treat ber to be present ; but she came, as I bad 
hoped. George happened to spend tbe evening 
with me in Lady Barres’s box, and tbe whole bouse 


190 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


lay between them. I did not call bis attention to 
ber ; but be saw ber ; be knew ber.” 

‘^He worshiped ber !” George broke in passion- 
ately. “ Hear me, my only friend ; for, saving 
Bice, I bave no other. It is vain for me to plead 
my character — ^you know it. Yon know, too, that 
my heart is untouched by any other fancy ; that 
my hopes, if rash, are pure. You told me not to 
pluck my rose till June — ^lo, June is here 1” 

Still the proud steps pacing to and fro. George 
flew to him, and walked by bis side. He stopped, 
and, sighing deeply, looked at George. 

And she, whom you bave no right to know — 
whom you bad no right to discover” — be sternly 
glanced at me — “ what of her heart and fancy?” 

“ If she has suffered for another, she shall forget 
her sufferings in my love. If,” continued George, 
in a lower voice, “.she has never loved, she might 
— she might love me !” 

I felt indignant, and I could not hold my 
tongue. “ George I” I cried, “ Mr. Henry is only 
testing you I He can not mean to be so cruel. It 
is not fair, Mr. Henry : you know you said to me, 

‘ I do not wish my sister to see Lord Ailye.’ ” 

“ And how will you — ^how dares any one except 
her brother — ^interpret those words ?” 

“ I am not afraid of you, Mr. Henry, though George 
is. I should do the same were I in -your place.” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


191 

What do you mean, my dearest Bice ?” asked 
George, in great confusion. Explain those words, 
my dear sir, I beseech you ! Why did you wish 
me not to see an angel ? If it was to spare my 
feelings, it was kind, but cruel. I would not but 
have seen her, though I should suffer always for 
itr 

“ I thought you might admire her, my dear 
lord,” said Mr. Henry, in hjs old sweet, melancholy 
Voice ; “ but I did not wish it.” 

“ I can understand your feeling, Mr. Henry. . I 
would not marry a man of rank, myself. And if 
I were a man, an exile, and loved George as 1 
know you do, and admired him as even you must, 
Mr. Henry, yet I should not like him to marry my 
sister. I should not like it to be said that an ex- 
ile’s sister married an Englishman of good position ; 
my whole nature would rebel against it: but it 
would be very wicked in me, if she liked him.” 

“ Bice I Bice I” cried George, in great pain ; and 
hastening toward me, he covered my mouth with 
his hand. 

“ She is a phild, my lord,” said Mr. Henry, in a 
tone that seemed to blend amusement with con- 
tempt, “ and will one day be a woman, that is all I 
Miss Eeynolds interprets my motive wrongly. 
And to prove this, my dear friend, long and truly 
loved, and honored — ^though so yoimgl — I wiU 


192 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


confess it was not the rank of the Englishman de- 
terred me. My own is the blood of princes, though 
they have ceased awhile to reign. Through the 
veins of my sister there flows a stream purer than 
the Norman blood which is your proudest boast : 
add centuries to your race, before it can equal the 
antiquity of ours.” 

These proud words were uttered with dignified 
simplicity. 

“ You have drawn blood. Bice,” muttered poor 
George: “how could you so torture me! My 
dear Mr. Henry, you to whom I - owe so much, I 
owe an apology for my wild little cousin ; whom 
indeed you must forgive: she did not intend to 
wound your feelings ; and you know I am honor- 
able.” 

“ Honorable and noble, and dear to me as a 
brother,” exclaimed Mr. Henry. 

“ And you would seal up from me the source of 
happiness !” 

“ Your happiness is dear to me ; but hers is dearer.” 

. “And yet — ^you do not speak as though her 
happiness were in other hands. No, you would 
have surely told me so. You do not think that I 
should destroy it !” 

“You form so much of my happiness that it 
would please me to think you would perfect hers, 
Let that suffice : I can say no more,” 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


193 


“Then you will help me — ^you will give me 
your countenance, your sanction ? How else could 
I approach her presence ?” 

“Pardon me: that I can not give. Do not 
ask it ?” 

“ But you permit — may mention your name?” 

“ Hot in her presence — I command that You 
will think me despotic as the rulers of my poor 
lost country — ^but there are circumstances which 
render it necessary I should exact your promise, 
whatever chances, not to use my name.” 

“You do not then forbid me to seek admission 
to her presence, which itself is heaven to me.” 

Mr. Henry left the room. 

“Is he angry — or hurt? can he suspect me of 
caprice or weakness ?” asked George. 

^ “ George ! it is only to spare his own pride. I 
knew that from the first !” 

“ Hot so — ^he is too serious: I fear, I know not 
what. Bice, my kindest friend, as you have seen 
her you might introduce me — ^if you would.” 

“ Will you promise to let me go first and pre- 
pare the way, then?” 

“ What man ever yet said nay, when a woman 
was inclined to suffer in his stead?. You shall — 
but when ?” 

To-morrow, if you will call and tell Lady 
Barres that you have come to take me for a drive. 

9 


194 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


She can think what it pleases her: it will not 
matter long.” 

George took me home that night, and the next 
afternoon he called for me about four o’clock, and 
took care to say that he might possibly carry me 
to dine with a friend of his at Kew : of course, 
he had a friend there, and I had driven there with 
him before. On this present occasion, however, 
we drove to another region. I left my* cousin in 
the carriage, and sent up my card to the elder 
Miss Henry. The pigmy came into the drawing- 
room, not a whit more cordial than in the first 
instance ; rather colder, perhaps : but this time she 
did not ask my business. I went to the point at 
once, as I always do. 

“ Madam, my cousin. Lord Ailye, has by chance 
seen your lovely niece, and conceived for her a 
high admiration and deep interest. He requested 
of her brother the honor of an introduction to her ; 
Mr. Henry refused, but did not, however, forbid 
Lord Ailye to seek an interview. I have come to 
ask you whether I may briag my cousin to see 
you ?— He is waiting outside. May I say you will 
receive him ?” 

I can not see Lord Ailye,” was her short 
reply, “without my nephew’s permission. I act 
for him.” 

I felt so indignant — ^so incensed, that I could 




MY FIRST SEASON. 


195 


scarcely refrain from giving vent to the angry and 
bitter words that rose to my lips. My cheeks 
and brow burned, and the feelings that I with 
difficulty repressed must have shown themselves 
in my kindling eyes and quivering lips. With 
an effort I commanded myself, and urged that 
not only did Mr. Henry not forbid George to 
make a way for himself, but he admitted there 
were circumstances which prevented his sanction- 
ing the mention of his name to his sister; but 
these circumstances he could not reveal. I pleaded 
earnestly — passionately even — ^for George ; and 
besought this diminutive duenna to tell me what 
obstacle stood in the way of his happiness. 

She looked at me keenly, and said : 

“And this noble cousin; is his nature as im- 
pulsive and sincere as yours ?” 

' I felt that I had mollified the witch, and rephed 
— “ His nature is sincere as mine — but not so im- 
pulsive ; though his feelings are more ardent, and 
his soul far nobler.” 

“ Can he bear suspense as well as you do?” 

This was spoken with a smile that sweetened 
the irony. 

“ He can not bear suspense like me: he thinks 
that life is tod short to be wasted in suspense.” . 

“ Happy ye ! to whom life is more than sus- 


196 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


pense ! Bring liim hitlier at once ; but tbe moment 
I bid you depart, begone.” 

I promised — ^but thought to myself, “ I will not 
answer for George.” It is pleasant to feel that a 
superior person has taken a fancy to one ; I felt 
hopeful that Miss Henry would morp than fancy 
George. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


I WENT to the carriage and told George the 
result. He permitted me for once to escort Mm ! 
Miss Henry received him very graciously, and he 
looked exactly as I wished him to look— -dignified, 
yet modest, and really noble. She requested him 
to be seated, and he took a chair at a respectful 
distance from her. I could see that he was strug- 
gling to speak ; but with a wave of her hand she 
calmed him, and spoke herself, placidly, but in 
measured, solemn, and almost sybilline tones. 

“And how should I begin, young lord and 
gentle lady? In this free England — so free that 
it dares shelter the sad ones who are not — ^what 
should you know of our people, with their per- 
secutors, their woes, and their wrongs? — ^the last 
the greatest — or how feel for them if you knew ?” 

“ I know, and I feel for them,” replied George. 
“We have long since learned that sad but glorious 
history. If I live, I will do more than sympathize 
-=-I will try to help.” 

“ The flower rooted in the valley is not wet with 


198 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


the showers of the mountains — ^the bird that builds 
in the homestead tree does not feel the storms that 
shake the eyrie of the eagle.” 

‘^Well, I dare not say I suffer — ^but I grieve for 
those patriot exiles. Pray tell me, madam, what 
are these circumstances which forbid me to mention 
a name that would at once procure me an interview 
with your lovely niece.” 

“ A true hero is a hero under all circumstances 
— ^under the shghtest circumstance often the great- 
est hero.” 

“ That is Mr. Henry, we are well aware,” I said ; 
but we want to know something else.” 

“ Thousands have been expatriated and exiled, 
their hearts outraged and their homes desolated; 
thousands of the race who call him brother have 
seen their pure patriotism flouted by the robe of 
imperial scorn and stifled in its folds; thousands, 
in pursuit of freedom, have wandered destitute over 
the western world, until death set them free. But 
these of necessity have suffered ; being driven forth 
there was no alternative : they were forced to yield. 
My nephew was self-exiled from a country he 
adores : he voluntarily quitted a service which en- 
sured him public honor and private esteem. Yes, 
he whom oppression only riveted more firmly to 
public duty, was prompted by private duty — and 
by domestic duty, which holds so few ! — ^to aban- 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


199 


don a career which seemed to promise an issue in 
triumphant success. 

“ My brother was the proud and happy father 
of this brave soul and that lovely maiden, Casimir 
and Maya — ^for I may tell you the names which 
they bear under ‘ the crystal cross.’ Their father 
was worthy of such children — every accomplish- 
ment adorned his person, and every virtue his 
mind : his rank less than his character raised him 
above others. He was a profound scholar: the 
language of every country was as familiar to him 
as to those of our embassy of old time, who made 
the French courtiers blush because these could not 
answer save in their own tongue, while ours ad- 
dressed them in many languages. He was brave 
as a lion, and received the crown of a patriot’s • 
martyrdom — a soldier’s death, fighting for his coun- 
try: he feU with Poniatowski, 'and almost at his 
side. To his son, whom he had trained himself, 
and to me, his only sister, he left the precious 
charge of his daughter, then only mght years old. 

“ I hastened from Vienna, where, from misfor- 
tunes unnecessary to explain, I had fixed my 
home ; I endeavored by every care and devotion, 
to soften the rigor of the noble son’s affliction, and 
to supply to my little niece the place of the mother 
she had never known : for Maya’s beautiful mother 
had perished at her birth, in the midst of one 


200 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


among the many political convulsions of her 
country. 

Peace, though false, had been restored about 
the time I returned to Warsaw: and, despite the 
ever-recurring shocks of the pohtical earthquakes 
that devastate our country, my nephew’s prospects 
were brightening, and he retained the remnant of 
his fortune without interference of the ruling pow- 
ers. He was indeed singularly favored ; for, grad- 
ually evincing his splendid talents for affiiirs, he 
was called into public life more and more, until he 
filled the highest offices left open by the charter of 
the constitution. And though powerless of him- 
self to promote the great cause of national inde- 
pendence, his influence enabled him to mitigate the 
condition of his countrymen : calm endurance suc- 
ceeded to wild confusion, passive to active suffering. 

His only domestic occupation was the education 
of his sister. She manifested extraordinary intelli- 
gence, but, alas ! also extraordinary beauty. One 
of the estates of his ancestry had been restored to 
her brother, and he lived there in such privacy that 
only the most intimate of his fnends knew of 
Maya’s existence. Other domestic ties he had ab- 
jured from the commencement of his public career : 
it was his axiom that a devoted patriot should es- 
pouse the cause of liberty, and hers alone. And 
as events might further darken the aspect of his 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


201 


beloved country, lie determined be would have no 
wife to be torn from bis bosom — no issue of bis 
body to be enslaved upon tbeif own soil. 

. “ You know wbo commands — ^wbo is said io pro- 
tect our country : tbe regent is kinsman and crea- 
ture of tbe tyrant we bate yet fear. You bave 
beard bow be outraged our faitb and our allegiance : 
promised all, bestowed nothing; gave us, for tbe 
bread we asked a stone — be wbo bas crushed our 
rights in bis band, and trampled our wrongs be- 
neath bis foot; wbo fills bis prisons with the 
bravery, tbe flower of our race ; wbo owns no law 
but tbe law of lust, no principle but selfishness ; 
and to whom no man’s character is sacred, and tbe 
virtue of no woman pure — ” 

“ Worthy of tbe imperial family whom be hon- 
ors by disgracing!” exclaimed George, flushing 
with indignation. 

She resumed, “ A Eussian of rank, whom I can 
not name, was jealous of my nephew, whose graces 
of person, persuasive prudence, and splendid tal- 
ents for affairs bad won tbe tacit approbation of^ 
tbe Grand Duke himself. 

This Knssian nobleman bad, through tbe sym- 
pathy of an evil nature, great influence over tbe 
Grand Duke. He dared not circulate calumny 
against one wbo could disarm it — for Poland 
would bave returned tbe poisoned shaft into bis 
9 * 


202 


MY FIEST SEASON. 




own bosom ; but be gained the royal ear by the 
seductive whisper of the fiend. Having in an un- 
bappy bour caugbt sight of Maya in her brother’s 
carriage— she never walked to take the air in the 
city — be was astonished at her beauty, and found 
means to discover her name. Scarcely twenty-four 
hours afterward, he asked her hand, in a letter 
addressed not to her brother, but to herself. It 
was written in a haughty, insolent tone, more like 
a demand than a supplication, and it drew forth 
her womanly spirit in disdain ; though she was 
then an innocent girl of fifteen years, she wrote a 
gentle, but cold and firm refusal. You will wonder 
why her brother did not answer for her ; but she 
dared not mention the circumstance to him. Child 
as she was, she had too well learned the peril of 
his position ; and sh^ knew that to excite his in- 
dignation might lead to his destruction : for the 
character of this audacious and subtle courtier, no- 
torious alike for vice and crime, would have en- 
forced a MAN to revenge what a woman could only 
■ reject with scorn. 

“It was with apprehension rather than relief 
that I found the count took no notice of the letter. 
For a week we remained in quiet. My nephew 
came and went as usual, and it was evident he had 
not been appealed to. The poor child was per- 
fectly restored and happy, but for the sadness 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


203 


which was her hereditary portion. One evening 
she was reading to her brother, when a private 
messenger brought a royal invitation — or rather an 
order in the form of an invitation — ^for my nephew 
to attend a midnight revel at the palace, and to es- 
cort his sister. The palace was the abode of the 
royal braggart, and is entrenched and fortified. 

“ It would have been as easy to refuse such an 
invitation as to refuse to mount the scaffold, had 
that been ordered instead. Her brother knew this ; 
and he would not have trembled to die ; but he 
trembled while he bade me dress our darling in a 
simple girlish costume ; and his countenance fell 
when he saw that her beauty was more charming 
when thus arrayed ; but he smiled upon her, and 
assured her fondly that this greatest of all compli- 
ments would issue in his exaltation. 

“ I was too well aware of the necessity of their 
departure to expect their return. I prayed for 
resignation, which is all the desolate and desecrated 
dare to ask — and I prayed for her death rather 
than her dishonor. I had uttered no prayer -for 
her safety; but they returned, two hours after 
midi^ght, before the first dimness of the dawn. 

“ ^ Put out the light/ were my nephew’s first 
words. There had been a lamp in the child’s bed- 
chamber, where I slept with her, and had been 
kneeling. Then he went and stood upon the steps 


204 


MY FIRST SEASON. 




of the doorway, and ordered his servant to take 
the horses out from the carriage in which they had 
returned, and put them in the stable. He spoke 
distinctly, and in a loud voice, knowing there were 
spies in the street who would hear the order. He 
then re-entered the house, leaving the doors un- 
barred : a precaution which I knew was to elude 
the vigilance of the spies. Then he took me into 
a back-room, and told me hurriedly that the Grand 
Duke had received, them with much ceremony, 
and dismissed them shortly. * We should be lost,’ 
he added, ‘ if it were not for the faculty God has 
bestowed upon me of reading the face of a man and 
the heart of a deviV 

“ All was still in darkness, and he bade me wrap 
the child and myself in traveling dresses, while he 
fastened round Maya’s throat a pearl necklace 
which had been her mother’s. This was all we 
took, except a few necessaries which could be car- 
ried in the hand. Of money I had but a handful 
of florins, and he little more ; but still enough to 
take us on the way. 

‘‘We waited in profound stillness until the 
street was clear in front, and the agents, deceived 
by the seemingly careless security of their victim, 
had crept home. We then went out by a back 
door which was used by the servants ; who were 
aU asleep, or at least in their chambers. Unseen 


MY FIKST SEASON*. 


205 




we readied a street comer, wliere a hired carriage 
was waiting, attended by the servant who always 
drove ns — a faithful and sagacious man, one of 
owselves, whom my nephew had instructed even 
before they had reached the palace. He drove — 
not too fast, lest suspicion should be excited — 
through the purlieus and byways of the city, and 
he maneuvered so well that we were out of Warsaw 
by daybreak. It was necessary to use our own 
name to secure passports until we crossed the fron- 
tier ; we then changed our carriage and name at 
once, and traveled disguised as Austrians of the 
lower order. We never paused to sleep a single 
night, nor rested for a meal at an inn, until we 
reached the coast, where we embarked for England, 
whose white cliffs stretch out their long arms of 
shelter to all the world. 

“We hired two small rooms in a remote hamlet, ^ 
and I let no one see my charge, who passed for an 
invalid requiring change of air. Directly we were 
settled, my nephew went to London, leaving me 
all the money we had remaining, except what was 
barely enough for his journey. My poor child 
then first comprehended her position, and I very 
gently revealed to her the danger she had escaped. 
She did little else than weep until her brother’s 
return. 

“ It was not until he reached London that he 


206 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


dared to address his friends abroad. Head and 
heart of the patriotic association he had ever been ; 
and he communicated with them bj secret cipher. 
They answered in the same way ; and he found 
that his intuition had not failed him. He had 
saved his sister’s virtue, and the honor of her race 
— ^but by sacrificing all else. 

Early on the morning of our flight, the tyrant 
• — ^incognito, but with his usual guard of spies 
within sight — ^had entered our house in Warsaw. 
The count was with him, and they searched the 
house together, even to the cellars and the vaults ; 
for the house had been a prison. A troop was then 
dispatched to search our country house ; which 
was well for us, as it gave us time. Distracted and 
desperate, the Grand Duke summoned our servants, 
and, surrounding them with soldiery, commanded 
them to confess where we had hidden ourselves. 
Our brave retainers, who declared, and with truth, 
their ignorance of our departure, were flung into 
dungeons ; and one, who boldly asserted that if 
he had known he would not have confessed, was 
whipped through the streets of Warsaw 1 My 
nephew, who had great influence with one member 
of the diet, lost no time in endeavoring, through 
him, to mitigate the sufferings of his old servants ; 
and he eventually succeeded. 

“ But that was not all. When he returned from 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


207 


London to onr retirement, lie bronglit ns tlie latest 
intelligence from his friends ; the whole of his 
property was swept into the imperial coffers, his 
country residence and estate confiscated, his town 
house stripped of its ancient furniture and burned, 
his official post filled up, and a price set upon his 
person. His faithful colleagues secured a remnant 
of his valuable library, which his servants had 
hastily thrown into a chest and buried in one of 
the cellars; and this chest, after many delays, 
reached England.” 

“We have seen it often,” I remarked, “ and won- 
dered why the clasps were rusty while the wood 
seemed nearly new.” 

Gieorge deprecated my interruption, I could see ; 
he said nothing, however, and Miss Henry went on 
without looking toward me. 

“His friends warned him that emissaries had 
been dispatched to the chief European capitals, 
and besought him not to remain in the metrop- 
olis of England; which was, just then, most 
dangerous of all. It became, therefore, important 
to seek some means of subsistence away from 
any large city. London, or one of your universi- 
ties, would have afforded the best field for the 
exercise of my nephew’s talents, for he was 
master of the Oriental and European languages, 
a good mathematician, and not a mean artist. 


208 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


In an obscure country place I foresaw it would 
be very improbable be would find any suitable 
employment ; but bis forecast was clearer than mine. 

^‘Tbe postmaster of tbe nearest town was a 
sbrewd tbougb untaught person, and proved 
trustworthy; of him my nephew inquired the 
rank and means of the different country families. 
The man was acquainted with the households of 
many, and the repute of all — excepting one, and 
that the most ancient and important in the 
country. Of this last he spoke in terms mys- 
terious yet reverential; its manage was evidently 
beyond his scrutiny : he knew the name of the family, 
and the number and age of its inmates, that was all. 

^^Upon this slight information my nephew 
formed his plans; he sought and obtained an 
interview with the lord of the demesne. Through 
the goodness of that Providence which guides 
every footstep of the just, he found there every 
thing he sought, and more than he had dared to 
hope for; permanent employment, an interesting 
charge, noble treatment, and generous remunera- 
tiou. The nature of that recluse nobleman, so 
pure and so ascetic, induced my nephew to con- 
fide in him entirely ; and that confidence he never re- 
pented. My lord, his benefactor was your brother !” 

“And you were the ‘ interesting charge,’ George,” 
I remarked. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


209 




He did not notice my interruption ; but exclaim- 
ed, with burning cbeek and flashing eye, You 
were not there all those years ? You did not stay 
there — and she so near me ?” 

“Our friend the postmaster,” Miss Henry 
calmly resumed, “ only remained in town for his 
duties; he had a cottage of his own near a 
lonely highway, with a glen behind it, and hills 
all ro'und. It was old-fashioned and built of 
wood, but very roomy ; and as he was not mar- 
ried, he was glad to let us have the upper part. 
It would have been impossible to find a more 
secure retreat, as it was only passed by the night 
and morning mails, or a wandering gipsy. Greatly 
to our advantage, also, it was but four miles from 
Ashleigh Place ; and we saw our dear friend often 
— once a week. The first two summers of our so- 
journ we frequently approached the gates, and 
Maya has gathered fir-apples that the wind had 
shaken over the wall. Soon, however, we left off 
walking near the grounds ; for her brother feared 
that she might be seen. 

Our favorite ramble afterward was the thyme- 
empurpled hill from whose summit we could gaze 
over the whole extent of the park, and look down 
upon the stone balustrade which surrounds the 
roof-walk of the mansion.” 

“ That house shall be her home ! Oh, grant it 


210 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


Heaven I” George cried, witli pas^fonate emotion ; 
and, as lie spoke, lie rose and crossed tke room, 
taking a seat next to tke narratress. Ske did not 
yet smile : I tkouglit ske sigked. 

Yon must now perceive,” ske said, “ wky ker 
brotker fears, ratker tkan kopes tkat ske may 
find a kome. Ske was tken a simple, tkongk 
earnest ckild ; ske is now a woman, not less earn- 
est but witk full knowledge and ripened judgment. 
From a disposition naturally unselfisk, sufferiog' 
kas purged every selfisk impulse. Ske kas lofty 
principle, deep piety^ — ^but pride unsubdued, and 
keroism wkick no sacrifice could daunt. Ske 
always understood, but kas fully comprekended 
lately, tkat ker brotker kad sacrificed his prospects 
for ker sake. 

Witkin tke last few montks tke patriotic asso- 
ciation in Poland kas acquired n^w strengtk, and 
fresk secret impulse. Its members still regard 
kim ; even rely upon kis advice : kis distant super- 
intendence is tkeir ckief support in tkis country. 
He migkt now, were ke unembarrassed witk any 
worldly care, return to kis country, and join — ■ 
perkaps direct — ^tkat struggle for a sacred cause 
wkick is certainly rising again, and wkick, under 
kis auspices, migkt be successful. 

“ As I kave said, Maya knows all tkese tkings ; 
and, in a moment of impassioned confidence, ske 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


211 


declared to her brother that she would not refuse 
to marry any honorable man whose esteem she 
could reciprocate, in order to free him from that 
care of her in which he would not relax. Since 
that hour we have remained in greater privacy 
than ever : her brother will not even introduce to 
her his countrymen in London. In conclusion, I 
need scarcely say that it was my nephew’s earnest 
desire that no communication might be established, 
however set on foot” — ^here she glanced awfully at 
implicated me! — “between his own family and 
that of the honored and beloved friend who has 
been the source of his happiness and prosperity.” 

“I see — understand,” said George, in his 
sweetest voice ; “but I do not despair. I thought 
my master wise in all things ; in this matter his 
pupil is wiser than he. He feels an unworthy 
mistrust of that divine gift called Love; which, 
though a human passion, is pure and incompatible 
with falsehood. I know she could not act nor 
speak other than truly — sht would not give herself 
where she was not loved j and whosoever loved 
her worthily would instruct her to love himself 
albeit unworthy, except in loving her 1 And this 
lesson of love I would teach her — ^and none but 
herself shall forbid me 1” 

Maya’s aunt took off her spectacles ; they were 
misty. She was not one to demonstrate emotion, 


212 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


but sbe was very visibly affected. So was that 
excitable person George ; wbo seized her band and 
kissed it. Sbe recovered first, of course ; and in 
ber old courtly style, sbe gave tbis invitation : 

“ My dear young lady, and my lord, I bope you 
will stay to dinner.” 

“Dinner!” exclaimed George, whose feebngs 
were shocked by tbis anti^climax. “ Dinner, 
madam! eating would choke me! Let me see 
your niece, i entreat : see ber I must, tbis moment. 
Only do not ask ber permission; for sbe might 
refuse.” 

“Sbe must wonder,” I observed, “what tbis 
committee with closed doors means.” 

Her aunt quietly replied, “ Sbe is not curious.” 

“ Madam,” again exclaimed George, “ I shall go 
myself and seek ber.” He was rushing to the door, 
but Maria Theresa put forth ber small band and 
restrained him. He was afraid, as all men are, of 
tiny women — and remained. Then sbe left him; 
and went down stairs with me into the dining-room. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Compose yourself,” Miss Henry observed, tlie 
moment the dining-room door was closed. 

I did not know I was discomposed so I looked 
in the glass to see ; and, while my back was turned, 
Miss Henry rang the bell and told the maid to in- 
form Miss Maya that Miss Eeynolds was waiting 
to speak to her in the dining-room. Down came 
Maya, looking quite calm — ^too calm, I thought, 
for perfect innocence of the mysterious conference ; 
and her deep blue eyes were dilated as she fixed 
them upon my countenance. 

Assuming a forced calmness, I addressed her, 
and requested to speak a word to her alone. She 
turned aside and gazed, astonished, at her aunt. 
“ Your aunt knows all about it, and permits it,” 
I added, “ I hope you will not refuse to let me 
accompany you up stairs; I wiU not detain you 
long.” 

Maya did not reply ; she sank into a chair : but 
I gave her no time to collect herself, and again 
urged my request. Her aunt at last came to my 


214 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


assistance, and said to lier niece, It is necessary 
that you should comply with your friend’s re- 
quest.” 

Maya rose, and passed out at the door, too proud 
to hesitate another instant. I did not pause either. 
On reaching the door of the. drawing-room I 
opened it, and passed in before her : she followed. 
I directly named Lord Ailye. He rose, and blushed 
but she turned pale, and seemed to grow taller as 
he bent before her. I saw and shared their embar- 
rassment, so I abruptly left them together, only no- 
ticing that there was a lamp on the table between 
them. 

On my rejoining Miss Henry in the dining-room, 
she made herself very agreeable ; but much as an 
abbess might behave to a visitor in a mood of re- 
laxation. She did not directly allude to what might 
be supposed to be going on overhead ; but she told 
me a charming 'story or two about her and Maya’s 
country sojourn in our days of ignorance : how 
Mr. Henry superintended Maya’s studies, and edu- 
cated her to the full as austerely as he did George 
at the same time ; how his visits always took place 
on Saturday evenings, and were spent in reviewing 
past studies, and the imposition of fresh tasks for 
the week to come ; how he had informed his aunt 
that we at Ashleigh were never permitted to walk 
outside the grounds and park, except to church ; 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


215 


and, for some mysterious reason, had forbade their 
attendance at the chnrcb he attended witb ns, and 
directed that they should worship at a church two 
miles off in the opposite direction; how once 
Maya, having advanced near enough to the park 
gates to pluck a blue periwinkle from among the 
grass inside, was discerned with- her arm thrust 
through the bars, by her brother, who was taking 
a solitary turn, and who ordered her, the next 
Saturday, never to approach the gates again. 

But as time wore on — the.t^te-a-tdte having lasted 
more than an hour and a half— Miss Henry felt 
persuaded that Lord Ailye must be fainting for 
want of some refreshment : it was impossible that 
a young gentleman could have so much to say to a 
young lady during their first interview. Indeed, 
she looked rather exaltedly ashamed of the trans- 
action. When she was a young woman, about the 
.Austrian court, young gentlemen would have 
thought it an honor to be allowed one' minute’s con- 
versation with a lady in private ; and that not un- 
til after numerous public interviews. They might 
say — we English she meant — what they would of 
the license of continental circles, but there was 
none such as in England. Our manner was re- 
served, but our social usages were unvailed, un- 
guarded. Not that she doubted the etiquette of 
Lord Ailye ; but she feared her poor child would 


216 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


be pained by tbe prolongation of an interview 
under such circumstances. At last sbe requested, 
nay commanded, me to go up stairs, and bring 
them down to dinner. I stedfastly refused, and 
sbe rose from ber cbair witb tbe manifest intention 
of fetching them berself; when at that moment 
there was a knock at tbe street door. My pulses 
rose, for I knew tbe knock, and tbe next minute 
Mr. Henry entered. His aunt sat down again, and 
I remained seated. On seeing me, be stopped short, 
“ Miss Eeynolds — ^youbere?” “Yes,” I answered 
meekly intrepid, “ and George is here, too ; up 
stairs in tbe drawing-room witb your sister.” 

“ I really repented my rashness, be turned so 
pale — unnecessarily so I thought : having snatched 
a carafon of water, be drained its contents, and sat 
down as far from me as possible. He recovered 
bis composure in a moment, and said — “Let us 
dine: Miss Eeynolds, to judge from ber appearance, 
is quite exhausted.” 

Miss Henry, happy to have any thing to do, or- 
dered up tbe dinner ; a repast not in British fashion, 
but in that of Yery and Yefour. We all three ate 
very sparingly and in silence ; that is, we trifled 
witb one course, and refused tbe others. Miss 
Henry broke tbe silence by saying, “ Do you not 
think that Lord Ailye must be very faint by this 
•time?” This was to ber nephew. Sas not bi^ 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


217 


lordship dined?” inquired Mr. Henry. “ I do not 
see that it is possible,” Miss Henry added, subhmely 
spiteful, “for he has been herewith this young 
lady three or four hours.” “ And how long with 
my sister ?” Mr. Henry asked. “ Two hours,” she 
replied, “ or more.” “ Suppose, Mr. Henry,” I sug- 
gested, “ George should now take the opportunity 
of revenging himself upon you for the length of 
time you kept him in ignorai^e of what detains 
him nowJ' 

This was more than he chose to bear. He rose 
and opened the door. “ Where are you going ?” 
cried his aunt ; but he did not stop to answer. I 
knew, however, and followed him. He went up 
stairs, I followed still ; and he did not turn to check 
me. On reaching the door of the drawing-room, 
Mr. Henry knocked. There was no response, nor 
was the door opened ; nor was there any murmur 
of communing voices either. Mr. Henry waited 
very impatiently about the third part of a minute, 
and knocked again, louder and more imperatively. 
This time a very faint masculine voice was heard 
to utter, “ Come in,” in a tone that conveyed to me 
the impression that the permission was reluctantly 
yielded to necessity. Mr. Henry entered immedi- 
ately, and I saw a proud curl of his lip subside 
into a smile of welcome. The lamp upon the table 
burned brightly, and at the window stood Maya 
10 


218 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


alone, seeming taller and paler tlian ever, more del- 
icate and more majestic ; and alas I more proud. 
She was looking down, and did not lift her eyes as 
we entered. Upon the window-seat lay a lily of 
the valley, which I suppose she had flung down 
after George had presented it to her, for upon the 
table beside the lamp was placed a vase of those 
same lilies. 

George stood i# the extremest corner of the 
room, as far from her as possible, leaning with 
his hands upon a chair in front of him ; and cer- 
tainly I could not have imagined that a human 
being could look so graceful under such awkward 
circumstances. He was looking full at Maya 
across the room, and his eyes seemed literally to 
flash a golden flame, while his bright hair was 
as a halo round his face, which glowed crimson. 
There was such a chaos of passionate expression 
in George’s countenance, that although it fascin- 
ated me, I turned aside ; rage and rapture, indig- 
nation and ecstacy, were mingled, and indicated 
that whatever he might have to fear, he was not 
altogether without hope. 

I wanted Mr. Henry to observe all -this; but he 
heeded neither George nor me, and walked up to 
Maya, standing so as to screen his sister from 
George’s view. George, driven to extremity, 
crossed the room, and seized Mr. Henry’s hand. 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


219 


Let me speak to you, let me explain to yon I” 
lie cried. 

“Not here — not now,” replied Mr. Henry, in 
what may he termed his ancestral voice. “You 
are both exhausted for want of food — ^my sister 
is utterly so. It is nearly ten o’clock. May I 
request you, my lord, to lead her down to din- 
ner ?” 

This polite request may sound cordially, but it 
was not pronounced so: a chill struck me, and 
George glanced at the speaker with proud defer- 
ence. However, he offered his arm to Maya, 
and took her down stairs. Mr. Henry followed, 
as I fancied : at all events he followed them out 
of the room.* I was in no mood to join the party ; 
and feeling that I could endure suspense much 
better by myself, remained in the drawing-room. 
To my very great surprise, I heard some one enter 
a minute or two afterward, while I was standing 
by the window, which I had opened for a little 
air ; it was Mr. Henry himself, who, approaching, 
bade me sit down ; which I was glad enough to 
do. Without waiting for him to speak, I began 
impetuously, “Mr. Henry, I hope — I trust, you 
are not angry; not very angry — ^it would be 
cruel !” 

“ With whom should I be angry. Miss Eeynolds?’^ 
he inquired, very calmly. 


220 MY FIRST SEASON. 

“ Witli George — ^witli me — witli every one. But 
I assure you we liad a very long conversation witli 
Miss Henry — mean tlie dowager — ^first.” 

“ I am very glad to hear that — my aunt was 
highly honored in her hsteners, who evidently 
listened to some purpose. But what then?” 

His cool manner made me feel more acutely 
than ever, and I burst into tears; a weakness I 
have never since yielded to in the presence of an- 
other. 

‘‘You have quite worn yourself out with all 
this excitement — about nothing too,” said Mr. 
Henry. 

“ About nothing ?” I cried, indignantly. But I 
caught his expression — he was smiling. “ About 
every thing,” I added ; “ every thing in the world 
to George. I suppose love is, like the divine 
cause, greater than its whole effect: but nobody 
seems to feel any thing except George and I.” 

“ Come, that is a hard saying; it is scarcely fair 
to exclude the most grateful of these worshipers 
— the happiest, too.” 

“What can make you so contradictory, Mr. 
Henry? so cruel, too, I think. Your conduct 
and your words, are at variance I You would not 
smile at George — no, nor look at him, where he 
stood all alone.” 

“The kindest thing to do in such case was 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


221 


what I did^ then* — to give him time to regain his 
composure.” 

“ I do not see why you should be above show- 
ing sympathy with George. And really, Miss 
Henry behaved much more kindly to me than she 
seemed to do to George.” 

“ I hope so !” said Mr. Henry, again, smiling : 
“for Lord Ailye is a gentleman I” 

“ Eeally I do not comprehend. You must trust 
him so far.” 

“Hot so far only — but to the very end,” he 
replied, in his earnest tones. “But every thing is 
good in His time only I How long is the twilight 
before the daybreak in the gentlest climates of the 
earth! It is only where the tropic heats force 
nature into premature fruition, that day succeeds 
night without those lovely shades. And how 
long is the bud in its unfolding! you can not 
trace the deepening of the tints from hour to hour. 
Above all, how long is life ! short in comparison 
with eternity, but hng^ very long to those who 
really live^' 

I felt impressed by his solemnity, and therefore 
compelled myself to answer lightly. 

“ I still think you might have said a kind word 
before you sent them down to dinner — to dinner I 
after such an interview.” 

“I am sure he wiU confess it was prudent of 


222 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


me. Did you not perceive how wearied they 
both looked? To my certain knowledge Lord 
Ailye has eaten nothing since the morning. You 
know, Miss Eeynolds, when a devoted friendship 
between a lady and gentleman ends in marriage 
they do not mutually commit suicide by way of 
celebration. They eat, drink, and sleep, live in 
houses, and have incomes which they must regu- 
late ; and the best of them spare a portion of their 
happiness to the duties which, duly fulfilled, secure 
the happiness of others.” 

Oh I I am now quite easy ; I did not under- 
stand you. I only wished to know that you did 
not object.” 

“Object! nay, I would invoke every blessing 
of heaven upon the noble man who opened his 
free heart to the sister of the stranger, and would 
give her liberty in his love. Miss Eeynolds, you 
have been under my tuition. I feel that this 
evening I bid adieu to that calm, bright episode of 
my existence, with which you as well as your 
cousin George are forever associated. I say not 
with regret ; for I must not regret.” 

“ And you will plunge again into the turmoil,” 
I added, hghtly, for I was anxious to find out 
what he meant to do. 

“ I hope so,” he replied. 

“ But I hope too,” I added, “ that it will not 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


223 


be always turmoil, but that tranquillity will re- 
turn.” 

There is always satisfaction in duty, and when 
dqty involves a great purpose, there is the highest 
pleasure too. Some natures can only conceive of 
happiness as another name for heaven — and I am 
one.” 

“You will return to Poland again soon then,” 
I observed, “and you will take your own name 
again. How glad your Mends will be to see 
you 1” 

“ Who told you I should return so soon ? Your 
imagination outstrips mine. I hope 1 shall return 
one day. It would be soon to me if it were in ten 
years hence.” 

“If I were a man, I would help you; and 
though a woman, I would fain try to aid your 
cause.” 

“You would, indeed?” There was a dreamy 
sadness in his look and voice, very unlike his usual 
self. 

His serene yet sparkling eyes were fixed upon 
my face. Alas ! what melancholy and incom- 
municable secret did their penetrating glance con- 
vey ? I understood, but what has not been uttered 
can never find an echo. Wholly unconscious, 
until that instant, of what might have been my 
blissful, my e:^lted fate, my heart was wrung 


224 MY FIEST SEASON. 

* 

with despair — but for one moment only — the 
next the pang was stiQed by maiden pride. My 
spirit rose at first wildly, but was soon conquered 
by that control which I had learned from him 
to exert. He could not have seen the struggle, 
for it found no expression in voice or look: it 
remains with me only as a remembrance of the 
past. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Miss Heney and George made dinner last a very 
long time, for the clock of the chnrch in the next 
square pealed ten while still we lingered at the 
open window. I was recalled to a consideration 
of Lady Barres, who not only did not know 
where I was, but had probably sent an attendant 
to George’s house to conduct me to her own. I 
hinted this to Mr. Henry, who went down stairs 
and reminded them of the hour. Up came Miss 
Henry and Maya immediately, George and his 
friend following directly after. I could see that 
George looked too happy to be calm, and Maya too 
beautiful not to be happy. Mr. Henry, for the 
first time for many, many years, remained to sleep 
at his own home that night ; so, on the best of 
terms with every other and ourselves, George and 
I departed. 

We had to pass my cousin’s house in order to 
reach that of Lady Barres, and as we drove in 
front of George’s door we observed it to be stand- 
ing wide open ; there, by the light of the lamp, 
10 * 


226 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


we discerned tlie forms of Burnett and of Savage, 
who, we imagined, were watching for me; but, 
on a second glance, Savage was seen holding Bur- 
nett’s hand, with his powdered poll bent down 
over that member ; a coach was drawn up at the 
door, the coachman being rolled up in his driving 
coat upon the box, asleep. Of course the actors 
in this little scene were too engrossed to observe 
us, though we were laughing at them. Greorge re- 
marked upon the close affinity of the subhme with 
the ridiculous. 

“ If you mean any allusion to yourself, Greorge,” I 
answered, “ I do not see the analogy ; for Miss Henry 
and you were in the opposite corner of the room.” 

“ Ah I Bice,” he replied, they speak of crude 
grapes hanging out of reach/ how sweet are the 
clusters that hang within reach, but which we dare 
not pluck, and dream not even of touching, though 
their fragrance charms the soul I” 

“ I am too tired to be philosophical, or I would 
try and remember what Mr. Henry and I have 
been descanting on. At all events, mine alderliefest 
cousin, it is well you are in so discreet a frame of 
mind ; for he denies that life is short, and ordains 
that courtship shall be long. You must not think 
of brushing the bloom from the grape, but wait 
patiently till the cluster is ripe, and falls into your 
hands.” 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


227 


“Dearest Beatrice, I .am not presumptuous 
enough, to anticipate a short affiance— too short, I 
mean.” 

What do you mean by short? six months?” 

“ Some days contain ages ; happy years count, 
alas! they say, for days. Every thing depends 
upon the next few weeks, you know.” 

“ How the next few weeks ?” 

“ Because the town will be empty in a month, 
and it is necessary we should meet in society^ how- 
ever little we may mix in the gay world after she 
becomes my wife.” 

“I suppose then you will take her every where. 
I should not do so. You will have no time to 
cultivate each other’s acquaintance.” 

“ Beatrice, you are a lady — a white gipsy — and 
might do any thing peculiar without perhaps injur- 
ing your own cause. I am not so fortunate, and 
am a man. In delighting to honor those we love 
we must act up to the standard of our station. 
We are not living in the desert.” 

We had by this time arrived at Lady Barres’s. 
L’Estrange emerged from a room at hand, where 
she h^d been sitting up for me. She said Lady, 
Barres had retired to bed early, indisposed, and 
desolated with anxiety on my account. Lady 
Barres always gave out she was ill on any night 
for which she happened to have had no invitation. 


228 ' MY FIRST SEASON. 

George returned home, and, I suppose, packed off 
Burnett and her cavalier on reaching his house; 
for they returned soon after I was in my room. 
Burnett had taken a fancy to attend upon me since 
our acquaintance had ripened into intimacy, and 
she came and knocked at my door. I allowed her 
to enter, and perceiving she had red eyes, I 
observed, carelessly, that I hoped Lady Barres 
would get rid of Savage when she was married. 
“ I hope not, miss,” sobbed Burnett, ‘‘ for I have 
promised to take an interest in him.” 

“lam sorry to hear it,” I remarked, “I think 
he is not worthy of you.” 

“Perhaps not, as he is, miss; but though my 
Lord Normanville’s men are not one of them 
imder six foot, Mr. Savage would not put up with 
such coarse companions: you know. Miss Bey- 
nolds, he is very refined. But he has great hopes 
of being made house-steward on my lady’s mar- 
riage ; and in that case, miss, it would be an offer 
above me, and I should be wrong in refusing it. 
Besides, Miss Eeynolds, L’Estrange is going to 
marry Lord Norman ville’s gentleman ; so it would 
be very appropriate that I should marrj Mr. 
Savage.” 

I felt certain Lady Barres would not promote 
her pet ; and that L’Estrange would not marry this 
English valet. L’Estrange was devoid of feeling 


MY FIRST SEASON. 229 

or principle, but remarkable for cleverness — ^indeed, 
a genius of ber order. Lady Barres tyrannized 
over Burnett; but L’Estrange tyrannized over 
Lady Barres, and was tbe only person of whom 
Lady Barres stood in awe, being terrified at tbe 
idea of ber going away. L’Estrange bad bved 
with tbe Ducbess of Ferrara for some years, and 
no other Engbsb lady bad ever employed ber. 
Sbe was paid very bigb wages ; sbe did no work 
but to wbip tbe cream of millinery, and possessed 
berself of ber lady’s dresses after they bad been 
worn once or twice — sometimes, if sbe cbose, 
before they bad been worn at all. Sbe sneered at 
Lady Barres’s jewels, of wbicb sbe kept tbe key. 
Tbis female dignitary breakfasted and dined alone ; 
sbe invited any friends sbe bked to sup in ber own 
room, wbicb was furnished like a boudoir. Sbe 
drank as much wine as sbe wished, and was never 
quite berself when Lady Barres was going to a 
great party. On that account sbe always called 
ber grand toilets ber “inspirations;” and, certaib- 
ly, they merited ber own epithet, ravishing. 

Sbe dre^ed hair exquisitely ; ber finger gave a 
graceful turn to tbe most impracticable tress, and 
every fold of a dress gave dignity under ber touch ; 
ber fancy in ornament was ideal, and ber invention 
of modes inexhaustible. I have said Lady Barres 
kept to one style of costume, wbicb was tbe crea- 


230 MY FIRST SEASOM. 

tion of L’Estrange, who varied it like a kaleide- 
scope, or the extempore modulations of an air by 
a skillful musician. * 

When L’Estrange was a little tipsy she was 
sweet tempered, and made Lady Barres look ravish- 
ing ; but when displeased, she strewed infinitesimal 
revenges in every corner of her lady’s dress, made 
Lady Barres’s face look as if it were on one side 
by the arrangement of her hair, and placed violent 
colors in discordant juxtaposition, till she actually 
seemed a fright. Once when Lady Barres had re- 
fused her the loan of a bracelet she was going to 
wear herself, L’Estrange inserted a breadth of the 
coarsest mock lace into the back of a Mechlin robe . 
which Lady Barres wore at a ball given by a royal 
duchess. Her ladyship was told of it by a kind 
friend before she had been there half an hour, and 
was obliged to sit down for the rest of the even- 
ing. 

For all these reasons, I did not think L’Estrange 
would marry Lord Hormanville’s valet, whose 
only French attribute was his title. I chose not 
to say so to Burnett; but, for fun, I added, “ I do 
not see, Burnett, why you should marry at all, 
seeing you are pretty comfortable here.” 

“ Miss Eeynolds” (energetically), “ I would 
rather be a mad dog or a dead cat than an old 
maid.” 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


281 


In tliat case, there is nothing to be said, ex- 
cept that I hope Sayage wUl make yon a kind 
husband.” 

“ I hope so, miss ; but I think I would really 
rather have an unkind husband than none at all.” 

Her avowal was honest, certainly, and is a solu- 
tion of the problem of many matrimonial engage- 
ments. 

ISText morning nothing particular happened, ex- 
cept that Lady Barres, deluded by G-eorge’s atten- 
tion to me, treated me with great distinction. She 
invited me to accompany her in a drive in the 
afternoon. I sat beside Eowena, Lady Barres 
alone occupying one seat, and Lord Normanville, 
on horseback, caracoled beside the carriage. But 
those levels of worn grass, and rows of toy-like trees, 
bordering glaring walks and railed-in roads, with 
lodge gates and lamp-posts at intervals, liveries 
and equipages all trying to be different, equestrians 
aiming to look alike, all the routine of fashion 
which makes Hyde Park somber even in sunshine, 
and, most of all, the absence of congenial com- 
pany, combined to make the drive wearisome and 
unlovely. 

Hext day, to my delight, it rained, and I spent 
great part of it alone; but in the evening Lady 
Barres was amiable, and made me read Dante to her, 
that Lord Normanville, who was present, might 


232 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


tLink slie understood Italian, wHcli was not the 
case. She rallied me about George, but respect* 
fully; she liked cousins to marry, as aU selfish 
members of rich families do. Lady Barres had 
sent Lord Hormanville away early, for she* was 
careful never to let him see too much of her at 
once: and while she was talking about George, 
there came from him a card of invitation to a 
dance. I had not thought it possible any thing 
could be arranged so quickly ; but I did not say 
so, and Lady Barres of course thought the party 
was made on my account, and had been settled 
weeks before. The most ingenuous little person,” 
she remarked, “ had at length learned reserve 
upon the only point it signified should be guarded 
by discretion.” Then she added that she was sure 
no other person could have persuaded George to 
give a ball ; for he had not room enough, and he 
took an iuterest in politics, which always made 
men ashamed of dancing. I longed for this occa- 
• sion to show her ladyship she was mistaken. 

When the night arrived, the magnificent dreams 
of Lady Barres, on my account, led her to coax 
L’Estrange to dress my head, instead of Burnett, 
who generally assisted me to dress ; and L’Estrange 
came, looking as black as thunder, and laid hold 
of me as if she were going to strangle me. When 
she had finished, which was in about a quarter of 


MT FIRST SEASON. • 


283 


an hour, slie swept out of the room ; and on look- 
ing at myself I perceived that she had successfully 
imitated the ugliest effort of the English style at 
that date : huge, solid bows behind, and clammy 
curls in front. So I re-arranged my hair as I 
usually wore it. 

Lord hlormanville, who led Lady Barres, would 
have offered me his other arm if he had dared ; 
as he did not, Hugh de Brabazone presented me 
with one of his. I may mention that this gentle- 
man enjoyed a monopoly of certain seamless 
gloves he had invented himself, which looked 
exactly like the cast of a hand; an artist had 
taken a model of that member for him, and his 
gantier kept it under a glass case to make his 
gloves from. Kowena was eager to have a pair 
of seamless gloves and a model of her hand ; but 
at present their originator reserved them for him- 
self; perhaps as a last resource. 

The rooms of George’s house looked beautiful ; 
quite continental in their decoration. Colored 
lamps hung on the walls in shapes of stars and 
wreaths, and rich lusters depended in streams of 
sparkling crystal from the ceiling, whose green 
and pink moldings glittered with points of gold. 
There was beautiful music, the players^ not being 
visible ; also a profusion of hot-house flowers, but 
the ventilation was so good that you breathed 


234 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


withont that sense of suffocation which one would 
think, from experience, must be the prescribed 
atmosphere of assemblages in high society. 

In those days quadrilles meant quadrilles, not a 
pot pourri of ladies and a stagnant mass of men ; 
a dense congregation, which, instead of sitting still 
like other congregations, is divided into two forces 
deliberately striving one with the other for stand- 
ing room. Nor in those days was the polka 
known: it was the fag end of a dynasty of 
fashion, immediately preceding the age of high 
pressure, and was in fact somewhat slow. Human 
beings, however, showed themselves much as they 
are now, except in their dress ; only there were 
just enough persons present to fill the rooms 
moderately, and not too many for each one to see 
every other. 

We arrived earlier than Lady Barres’s usual 
habit; I suppose because she thought George 
would open the ball with me; however, though 
he told us, after greeting our arrival, that he had 
not yet danced, he did not offer to lead me out, 
but only gave me a kind and significant glance, 
and then left us. The next moment Maya entered, 
with her aunt and brother. How beautiful she 
looked ! Every one knows that the advent of u 
new beauty in a ball-room is to the fashionable 
world, like the discovery of a planet to astrono- 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


235 


mers. But even a star must have a name, since 
Chaldean dreams are dead. The symmetrical 
figure of Maya, her perfect arms, her lustrous 
pale complexion, black hair, and eyes of intense 
blue, combined with the dignified simphcity of 
her toilet, and the majestic grace of her presence 
and movements, produced, as she appeared, a hush 
of breathless admiration, followed by whispered 
encomiums and inquiries. Delusive, however, 
was the hope that she might be spared what all 
must suffer in society without a name, unless they 
are known to conceal a great one I 

George led her forward, having asked her to 
dance with him. I thought Lady Barres would 
sink into the earth : little I knew her. She had 
heard the names announced, but knowing Mr. 
Henry to be nobody, she heard as hearing not; 
and as for looking to see what his relations were 
like, she would as soon have thought of scrutiniz- 
ing a servant. Directly Maya and George stood 
up together, however, her . ladyship charged her 
eyes with an intensely critical expression, which 
she leveled at Maya only. Still staring, she glided 
round the room, drawing Lord Hormanville after 
her by keeping her fan on his arm, until she 
reached her ffiend the duchess, who was survey- 
ing the room as though it were an apartment in a 
doll’s house. As my eyes followed Lady Barres, 


286 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


I perceived that every other person was staring at 
Maya too; but no longer with admiration: cold, 
snpercilions glances gleamed from a hundred eyes 
whose scrutiny was insolent and cruel, though not 
exceeding the limits of conventional license. Could 
it be envy, or was it only curiosity ? 

Whispers circling the room caught my ear on 
every side. “ Who is she ?” — “ Who is she ?” — 
hissed young men and fair women, dowagers and 
dandies; and the piquancy of the question con- 
sisted in nobody’s being able to answer it. In 
these days men take with their eyes the measure 
of ladies’ ankles, bet upon their fortunes, and dis- 
cuss whether complexions be genuine when the 
fair are false. Now, ladies do not invariably ask 
whether men’s fathers have been in trade. There 
are other social changes. Have people# ceased to 
lisp “Who is she?” 

Maya must have heard the snake-like sibilation ; 
but it pained her not : it had no power upon her. 
Her ■ ingenuous and commanding countenance 
showed that she was at ease, occupied with her 
own thoughts, and unconscious of giving or taking 
offense. Her dancing was exquisite for the grace 
and harmony of her movements, which, nymph- 
hke, sprung from the elastic step of her small and 
slender feet — a charm far rarer than the most beau- 
tiful of hands. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


237 


George did not dance gracefully — ^few men do 
of strictly Anglo-Norman descent ; but be looked 
in a state of blissful world-disdaining triumph. 

Meanwhile, I remarked that Lady Barres, like a 
steamer towing a hulk, had drawn the duchess on- 
ward, Lord Normanville moving after them in due * 
course, until they anchored close to Maya’s friends. 
J, too, wished to join them, but scarcely dared ; 
now, however, the way was clear, for it was proper 
that I should follow my guardian, even though 
she had forgotten me. I reached the sofa whereon 
the elder Miss Henry sat, and crept behind it, 
while Mr. Henry stood beside his aunt. She wore 
brocade of deep blue, trimmed with the costliest 
white fur ; and her silver white hair, dressed high 
upon her head and frizzled, gave to her complex- 
ion all the brilliancy of powder. 

Mr. Henry’s eyes did not follow his sister ; per- 
haps he could not bear to do so, while yet her so- 
cial fate was trembling in the balance. 

Lady Barres placed herself, or fell into a seat at 
his elbow, so close that she could have touched it 
with her fan ; but she looked as if she were quite 
unconscious of his being near to her. Next to her 
of course Lord Normanville posted himself, the 
duchess being seated beside him ; so that Lady 
Barres was not too far from her noble friend to 
talk to her, though she was too far to whisper: as 


238 MY FIKST SEASON. 

lofty ladies may, and do, into eacli others’ ears, 
though, lowly school-children may not. However, 
here was no whispering, but the ring of full, sweet 
English voices, clear as musical bells. 

“ I ca£ not imagine,” was her ladyship’s first 
xemark, “ with what hallucination my fine young 
cousin is seized to-night — ^the most important of 
his existence, in some respects. It is, as yom^ 
Grace is aware, the first ball he has given.” 

And a pretty thing it is, though small — a very 
sparkling little affair. If only his lordship had 
consulted you, dear Lady Barres, he would have 
taken a high place, and have avoided the scrape 
he has got himself into. Perhaps, as it is his first 
essay, this escapade may be overlooked.” 

“ There is no precedent for such inconceivable 
absurdity ; and therefore, perhaps as an eccentricity, 
a touch of originality now and then excuses a 
freak. No, it is not my cousin I reprimand. 
There is in the bonnet of the Gordons the bee that 
buzzes in all Scotchmen’s ears : Lord Ailye’s 
mother was a Gordon, and the late Lord Ailye, as 
you know, never went into society. Therefore, as 
I said, I do not blame my cousin ; but I denounoe 
the vulgar ingratitude of the unknown person who 
could impose upon his generosity — upon his boy- 
ish impetuosity — and avail himself of the oppor- 
tunity which his position in Lord Ailye’s service 


MY FIRST SEASON. 239 

gave him, to better himself by thrusting forward 
his connections for their advantage and his own 
benefit.” 

“ What name did they say ?” asked the duchess, 
following Maya with her glass. “ Henry I But it 
can not be Henry — ^there is an excellent Irish 
stock of that name.” 

“ Pray do not foist them upon the protection of 
poor vice-royalty,” replied Lady Barres, with a 
soft laugh. “ The name is not Henry, nor any 
other that any one has ever heard of : it is an alias. 
The people who assume it, however, unfortunately 
for their credentials, chose one most likely to be- 
tray their sore need of its shelter. Poor persons, 
however, one ought, perhaps, never to blame ; for 
poverty is not a crime, any more than name- 
lessness.” 

“How then,” asked the duchess, in a hard, 
haughty tone, “ did they contrive to get here — to 
be asked, as I suppose they were ?” 

“ The girl is pretty,” returned Lady Barres ; “ a 
charming savage in a civilized crowd : she is too 
simple to know her place. I doubt not her beauty 
is the whole capital of her needy relations ; and 
they have speculated in it too rashly for success. 
When my cousin’s ear is gained, he will indiscrim- 
inately grant any favor : and to gain the ear of a 
youth who has scarcely tasted life, we all know is 


240 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


easy. It is only for an elder person, one wlio af- 
fects -wisdom because be has passed years in ob- 
scurity — ^to whisper of beauty yet unseen, and graft 
imaginary charms on a slight reality.” 

“ You doubt her beauty then ! — For my part, I 
had scarcely seen her : but those massive marble 
outlines I dislike, and the unnaturally large eyes 
which stare and roll so.” 

“ Marble I” exclaimed Lady Barres as the duch- 
ess made this remark. “Marble! oh my dear 
creature, do not calumniate the charm of statuary 
— ^thosc classic forms which only the rarest symme- 
try can emulate. That complexion yonder, is 
frightM ; it is the sallow white, which passes for 
delicate pale only by lamplight. One does not 
meet with it among the Enghsh women, so it im- 
poses here ; but abroad, is common among the lour- 
geoise, and it is the type of the ballet.” 

What will be thought of Lord Normanville, that 
he, an old soldier, could stand between two ladies, 
and hear them so speak of a third ? But beyond 
the very first sentence or two of this insolent dia- 
logue, Lord Normanville heard nothing ; for just 
at that moment, the quadrille being over, George 
led Maya to a seat and leaving her for an instant, 
crossed the room and spoke to Lord Normanville, 
who smiled and followed George, bowing to Lady 
Barres as he left her side. Of course she could 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


241 


not ask wkere his lordship was going, nor follow 
him. When I beheld what George did, I scarcely 
marveled that she spoke so bitterly ; for George 
had presented Lord E’ormanville to Maya. Beauti- 
fully, and in a manner worthy of his fine sense 
and tact, did Lord hTormanville behave ; he stood 
while Maya sat, and talked to her with the perfect 
ease of high breeding, without the least air of sup- 
posed superiority. 

Lady Barres must have felt that Lord ISTorman- 
ville was' compromising his dignity. She saw not 
with her bodily eyes: those well-disciplined orbs 
never glanced across the room once ; neither did 
she alter her voice, her manner, or the matter of 
her discourse ; though had he been listening, she 
would not have gone so far. She knew that Mr. 
Henry and his aunt heard every syllable she uttered 
as she intended : and she also guessed rightly that 
they would not repeat her slanders : though she 
could not think that they would be forgotten, as 
such harmless scandal should be. Mr. Henry 
looked, if any thing, rather amused than discon- 
certed ; and as for old Miss Henry, she lay back 
upon the sofa with that aspect of seronity which is 
the best becoming passive state in good society. 

In about five minutes after Lord Normanville 
had left our corner— -for in ftve minutes many spiter 
|ul things can be said — ^here turned to his old place, 
11 


242 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


there being still room left for him ; and lie forth- 
with began speaking to Lady Barres. I gathered 
from his countenance that he was resorting to eyery 
phase of insinuation, deprecation, and entreaty. 
Her ladyship dared not displease him, for the morn- 
ing twilight of her affiance approximated to bridal 
dawn : and it was sweet to her to please those she 
loved. At last she bowed, and negligently unfold- 
ing her fan, she screened her face with it as though 
she would escape observation, while she nerved 
herself for a sublime act of sacrifice. In another 
moment Maya was presented to Lady Barres, who 
looked perfectly impassive, and, in a tone of utter 
indifference, said that she was happy to make her 
acquaintance. How they would have got on to- 
gether afterward I can not tell; but Mr. Henry, 
not choosing to subject his sister to the possibility 
of insolent politeness, looked at his aunt, who rose 
with great presence, and in another moment the 
three had left the ball-room. 

The gentlemen were ready to bite off the ends of 
their gloves with vexation ; for there was scarcely 
one present who would not have given ten pounds 
(why should it be v^gar to mention the motive pow- 
er that sways mankind ?) to purchase the pleasure 
of dancing a quadrille with Maya. It was the more 
tantalizing, for she had danced once, and no 
one could imagine she went away early because 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


243 


sTie was fatigued. Fresh, beauty had invested her, 
in the eyes of the men, every instant that she had 
remained in the room ; blushes suffused her cheeks 
and lent a new charm to her beauty, while the 
heavenly blue of her eyes beamed brighter with 
excitement. But her last glance and step as slie 
retired, indicated the deep-seated peace which be- 
longs to a loftier triumph than that of admired, 
unrivaled beauty. George, in the finest spirits, 
not excited but buoyant, soon renewed the sparkle 
of the scene. After the momentary relapse, his 
gayety of heart awakened the sympathy of his 
friends, and enlivened the whole company. At 
supper he was -dazzling, and he told me afterward 
he was surprised at his own cleverness, for he ex- 
temporised a maccaroni song, quite beyond the av- 
erage of extempore verses, in which he compli- 
mented almost every lady present. 

Next morning, as in duty bound, he called 
upon Lady Barres, choosing the hour when she 
was out; for she juSt now aired herself daily. 
He saw me only, therefore ; but I merely told him 
what she had said about Maya’s complexion, and 
said nothing about needy relations,” for George 
would, I knew, have resented that impertinence. 
He was glowing with satisfaction, and observed, 
“ The next time she is seen it shall be in full day- 
Hght.” 


CHAPTER X\^II. 


The next time George called, he looked as 
if he had been blissfully engaged in the mean 
while, for he was radiant with delight. We 
were all at home. Lord ISTormanville haying gone 
into the country to one of his places to see that 
it was ready to receive his bride by the middle of 
the next month. Lady Barres was softly sulky, 
because L’Estrange had required her salary to 
be doubled when her mistress became Lady 
Normanville. George had brought her a basket 
of orchids, which were just then a slight rage, 
and they • had a soothing effect, for she prized 
flowers only for their rarity. He conciliated her 
further by praising a ring — a blue diamond, 
surrounded by black pearls — which Lord Kor- 
manville had given her the day before; and 
finished by inviting her to a. rural f^te. Knowing 
she detested daylight entertainments and every va- 
riety of out-door fastivities, I was not surprised that 
she shook her head and begged George to excuse 
her, as she had not nerve for the stimulus of an en- 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


245 


tertainment in the open air. George smiled, but 
did not look baffled ; he only observed, that when 
Lady Barres knew whither he intended to assemble 
his friends, she would not persist in her objection. 
It was to the Yillarosa. 

Yillarosa I certainly that made a difference. It 
had been the cynosure of fashionable curiosity for 
several seasons, and a goal never reached by the 
most adventurous. Lady Barres said she would 
consider of it ; and, at all events, she would take 
a peep at the charming festivity, even if she 
could not stay to share it. She dared not ask 
George how he obtained the entrde where all others 
had failed, and he did not choose to tell her just 
then. 

I hope you intend to honor Lord Normanville 
with an invitation,” observed Lady Barres. 

“I should wish to do so, certainly; but I came 
here first,” George answered. 

“ I will convey to him your kind invitation, and 
persuade him to accept it. He scarcely opens half 
his notes of invitation, and I would not have this 
escape him.” 

George bowed and assented. What else could 
he do ? • Lady Barres reiterated, “ Do not send him 
a note — he wiU never read it,” so earnestly, that 
George was surprised at her persistence in such a 
• trilling matter. 


246 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


‘‘ But,” added her ladysliip, “ Ilow sliall we meet 
you ?” 

George explained tliat there would be pleasure- 
boats ; whereupon she said she could not go upon 
the river, because the smells reached beyond Bich- 
mond : and also she was in the habit of fainting 
on calm water, though she thought a sail in a 
yacht on a breezy day “divine.” Therefore she 
would take the “ overland route” in her carriage, 
and bring Lord Kormanville, with Eowena and 
Hugh de Brabazone. As for “ the talented little 
person,” she would send her, under safe escort, to 
join the boats. I wondered at her kindness to me, 
until I remembered there was only room for four 
in the carriage. 

Villarosa was the pretty foreign name by which 
a quaint old English house, secluded in its grounds 
upon the banks of the river, had been rebaptized. 
It was untenanted for several years before its pres- 
ent mysterious occupant had entered upon pos- 
session. Ho one knew who inhabited it, and all 
that could be perceived was the dazzling beauty 
of the flower-garden seen from the river at some 
distance. A near view from the water showed 
only three terraces, one above the other, whii^h had 
been newly raised on the foundation of the old 
sloping banks. Nobody could land at the steps of 
the lowest terrace, as there was a locked water- 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


247 


gate, and tlie lower balustrades were too bigli to 
climb ; and nO person ever passed tbe gates of tbe 
grounds from tbe road. Lady Barres, among other 
persons, was so curious to know who lived at 
Yillarosa that she would have gone in tbe pouring 
rain. Of course sbe did not ask wbetber Maya was 
going ; for bad sbe been told so, sbe would bave 
been obliged to refuse, for tbe sake of appearances. 

W e saw Greorge again before tbe morning of tbe 
pleasure-party, and be told me be bad asked every 
body be knew, but that be could not get enough : 
be wished to bave as many guests as possible ; for, 
said be, “I would not bave my real motive sus- 
pected, even by hery I bethought myself of some 
j^ces that would enliven a November fog, and 
asked permission to call for tbe Tbynnes as we 
passed Eicbmond. Greorge was delighted, being 
amiable enough to wish to show them attention 
because they bad been kind to me. 

I wrote to Mrs. Tbynne, inviting her also. Sbe 
returned me an answer which, ill-spelt as it was, I 
admired. Sbe would be very proud for her girls 
to go, but as for herself, sbe knew her place too 
well to make herself “ conspicuous” among pQp- 
ple of fashion and education. Then, in a modest 
postscript, written very small, crept tbe request, 
might Tbynne Tbynne come too ? be was at home 
for tbe long vacation. A certain young lady need 


248 MY FIRST SEASON. 

not be afraid; foT sbe, bis mamma, would take 
■care be sbonld bave neither pencil nor paper in bis 
pocket : evidently bis sisters bad told ber tbat I 
did not like bis verses. Of course I wrote and said 
my cousin would be bappy to see bim. 

Tbe day arrived, and was splendid; tbe atmos- 
phere clear and mellow, as in Spain, with no 
clouds, and scarcely a breeze, only a gentle breath 
from tbe south now and then. Our procession was 
quite a pageant. There were three beautiful shal- 
lops filled with guests — ^tbe host of course in tbe 
first — tbe rowers in bright new bveries ; a band of 
musicians followed in a fourth boat, and a train of 
servants in a fifth : tbe sixth bad preceded us to 
make preparations for tbe company. Mr. Henry 
was in tbe second boat. I bad a place in tbe first, 
where also sat Maya and ber aunt; and, to my 
great satisfaction, I found room next Maya, who 
sat near tbe stern, Oeorge himself taking tbe helm. 

At Eicbmond tbe Tbynnes were waiting ; their 
mother stood on tbe top of tbe steps to see them 
embark, and kissed ber band and nodded to me all 
tbe while we were in sight. , Tbe girls took up a 
good deal of room, for they all wore wide straw 
bats lined with green silk, with green bows and 
streamers : they bad no parasols, which, indeed, 
their immense bats rendered unnecessary. Tbynne 
Tbynne, who carried a boat-cloak with tassels, over 


MY FIE ST SEASON. 


249 


his arm, contrived to get into our boat ; but if any 
flutter of vanity bad fanned my spirit, it would 
have been instantly calmed by seeing him look at 
Maya : be seemed transfixed, and gazed with tbe 
rigid stare of admiration peculiar to bis poetical 
moments. Maya was amused, and turned ber 
bead aside to smile, but tben sbe met Greorge’s eye, 
and was obliged to look tbe other way. Sbe wore 
a white pebsse with ribbons of rose-color, and a 
bonnet simply trimmed with white, and sbe carried 
a green parasol. I mention tbe parasol because it 
played a part on that day. I tried to engage 
Tbynne Tbynne in conversation, but be only 
ga^ed at me with a rapt -expression, and besought 
me, quite loud enough for Maya to bear, to tell 
him who sbe was. I repbed in a significant but 
low tone, that sbe was tbe sister of my cousin Lord 
Ailye’s dearest friend ; whereat be heaved a sigh, 
and leaned over tbe side of tbe boat with bis hair 
banging into bis eyes, until we reached tbe shore. 

Tbe water-gate was open ; George sprang out 
first and banded every lady from tbe boats, and 
we ascended a noble flight of steps from tbe water 
to tbe first terrace, and thence to tbe second and 
third. Tbe third terrace was magnificent, it was 
bordered by pierced stone carving, and, upon tbe 
balustrade, peacocks proudly trod, at intervals un- 
furling their lustrous fans to tbe glowing sun. 

11 “-^ 


250 


MY FIRST S-EASON. 


Then the garden burst upon us, a smooth lawn of 
the finest and most elastic turf and the freshest 
verdure, laid out with beds and baskets of the 
brightest flowers, which also bloomed in vases; 
and trellises of various forms were covered with 
roses, white, yellow, crimson, and purple. On 
one side of the lawn, a range of hot-houses showed 
a blaze of tropical plants, glowing like jewels 
through the glass ; on the other, dark masses of 
cedar, cypress and yew, formed a solemn grove, 
whose shade no sun could penetrate. A path 
beyond the terrace avoided the grove, and wound 
amid undulations of grassy slopes, studded with 
beautiful trees. 

George led his guests to a spot indicated by the 
white canvas and tent-poles of marquees, whose 
flags lazily drooped in the warm air. The dainty 
tresses of silver birch and rose acacia flecked the 
bright greensward with softest shadows, and a 
grand old oak in the center of the turf cast a deep' 
and welcome cool ; the rose garlands and knots of 
ribbon which hung from its rugged limbs forming 
a gay contrast to its bronze foliage and the sunny 
grass around. 

There were two large marquees; the one ar- 
ranged for the guests formed" an immense semi- 
circle, so that no one should immediately face 
another, yet each could see the array of smiling 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


251 


faces. The tent-poles were inwreathed with flowers 
and ribbons, and the tables were spread with 
snowy damask, set out with rich china and crystal 
in profusion, relieved by bouquets of choice flowers 
placed beside every cover. A jet of perfumed 
water plashed in the center, playing from a crystal 
basin, beneath which was concealed by flowers a 
German music-box which played a variety of airs, 
in those soft, sparkling, tiny tones that interrupt 
conversation no more than the hum of a bee. 

Before we entered the tent, a carriage was seen 
in the distance, which dashed through the open 
gate of the grounds, nearly overturning the tent 
that held the servants, and finally drew up upon 
the grass, the grays prancing and foaming as 
though conscious of being out of their places. 
George sprang forward, and handed out Lady 
Barres. ISTo Lord ISTormaimlle sat beside her, 
only the inevitable duchess, looking black as 
Hades. Eowena, sun-flushed and sulky, was 
handed out after the elder ladies, and Hugh de 
Brabazone followed with a burning face: indeed 
it was so hot that I could not conceive of any 
motive less strong than curiosity inducing the 
duchess and Lady Barres to venture on a drive 
on such an afternoon. But where was Lord Hor- 
manville? Lady Barres (who looked cool as an 
Undine in a grotto) said, courteously, that to his 




252 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


great regret and hers he could not be present, 
having to folfill a previously settled engagement 
elsewhere ; she had therefore determined to com® 
herself, although really the heat, etc., etc. Yes, 
thought I, you have come, and made him stay 
away, because you want to do something you 
would not dare to do if he were here. 

A place had been reserved for the duchess in 
the place of honor in the center of the crescent, 
and she enthroned herself immediately ; but Lady 
Barres, whom George was to have separated from 
her grace, assumed one of her gentle airs of ex- 
haustion, and holding up her milk-white fingers 
deprecated that seat above all others: she really 
should faint if she had to sit so far from the open- 
ing ; the scent of all those fiowers, and the intonse 
perfume of the fruit would be to© much for her. 

In short, she was determined to sit at one end 
of the half circle, close to the opening ; “ exactly* 
opposite her charming Beatrice,” she added: keep- 
ing, meantime, every body on their feet. She 
would resign the seat of honor to some younger 
and fairer guest, who would do her cousin the 
kindness to sit next him. She sank into the seat 
she had indicated, and beckoned Savage, who had 
been simmering in the background, to come and 
attend upon her; which was quite unnecessary, 
as the attendance was numerous and most efSident.^ 


f 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


258 


G-eorge, in blissful ignorance of Lady Barres’s de- 
signs, won Maya to take tke seat next bimself; 
and certainly no two bnman beings ever looked 
more radiant with beauty and felicity than this 
noble pair. 

Immediately we were all seated, Lady Barres 
put up her glass, set witb emeralds, wkicL. at- 
tracted all eyes by tbeir sparkle, and through it 
deliberately scrutinized the whole company in suc- 
cession^ bowing and smiling to every individual, 
whether known to her by name or not, until she 
reached Mr. Henry, who was sitting between two 
of the Thynnes; she bowed and smiled to one 
Thynne, then dropped her glass in Mr. Henry’s 
face, and took it up again , to examine the other 
Thynne, at whom also she bowed and smiled. 
Then she began at the end of the table where she 
was seated, passed in* review the faces near her 
jeweled glass, with the accompaniments of smiles 
and compliments, till she reached Miss Henry the 
elder ; again her glass fell in Miss Henry’s face, 
and again she raised it to her eye until she per- 
ceived Maya, now seated next to G-eorge ; then for 
the third time it was dashed down, shaking the 
shining links of the chain by which- it was sus- 
pended, ^nd, passing over Maya, Lady Barres 
spoke to Greorge. From that moment she con- 
. tinned to engross his attention ; he being obliged. 


254 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


by courtesy, to listen to her, and to answer ber : 
sbe allowed bim not an instant to address Maya, 
and be bad tbe prudence not to endeavor to do so, 
tbougb be kept ber supplied with successive deli- 
cacies. 

Lady Barres, in short, would have placed tbe 
reputation of any young bost witb less tact and 
spirit than Gleorge, in jeopardy; but sbe could not 
succeed bere, for Mr. Henry was regent of tbe 
entertainment, and exercised bis power witb magi- 
cal skill. Tbe voyage bad been long, tbe day was 
warm, and every one was hungry or thirsty. For 
tbe hungry there were indescribable preparations 
of fish, flesh, and fowl, including even hot dishes 
— for a French cook presided at a stove in tbe 
second tent; for tbe thirsty were peaches and pine- 
apples, grapes and melons, fresh and juicy as from 
Pomona’s lap ; ice, crystal (jjear, and cold, tbougb 
on a hot day, and at a period before tbe Wenbam 
Lake bad been made to supply London tables; 
also French, German, and Italian wines. Lady 
Barres tasted of several dishes — Savage being oc- 
cupied in changing ber plates — and sipped a few 
glasses of wine; then sbe unfurled a huge fan, 
which. sbe kept in constant motion, still talking to 
George, and showering insignificant but clever 
remarks among tbe guests; but sbe never looked 
at Maya any more than if sbe bad been a blank of 


255 


MY FIEST SEASON. 

blue sky : Lady Barres never looked at the sky. 
The duckess was engrossed by the enjoyment of 
the delicacies that tempted, and even satisfied her 
fastidious palate; she told George that the colla- 
tion would have been faultless if only there had 
been prawns : she always desired to taste prawns 
upon occasions when it would not be vulgar to do 
so ; why were there none to-day ? • 

I could not sufficiently admire Maya, who be- 
haved beautifully in this trying situation; for 
though she thought proper to be silent, and only 
bowed when spoken to, her silence was neither 
res^tfnl nor ungracious. She now and then ex- 
changed a smile with George, and no one present 
could have failed to detect a mutual confidence 
between them ; but there was no blushing bashful 
betrayal of a secret understanding ; they knew how 
to keep their secret. 

Suddenly a peacock strutted round the corner 
of the tent, and swept, with traihng plumes, to the 
back of the table, between the seats and the lining 
of the tent. It was toward the end of the feast, 
and every one offered the beautiful bird something ; 
but all their scraps he disdainfully eschewed, until 
Maya held him out a piece of bread, which he 
greedily devoured. He had scarcely swallowed it 
when a beautiful carrier-pigeon fiew into the tent 
and perched on Maya’s wrist as she fed the pea- 


256 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


cock ; then followed a snow-white Italian grey- 
hound, which had bounded back from the entrance 
twenty times, but at last darted under the table 
and climbed up into Maya’s lap. One of the 
servants of the house — ^for the owner had placed 
her staff at Oeorge’s disposal — ^told us that it was 
near feeding-time, when all the birds and 
“ creatures” were let out first for exercise. They 
would none of them be tamed, added the man, 
and would only allow their mistress who fed them 
to touch them with her hand ; they fled from all 
others ; yet now they fled to a strange lady and 
let her feed them ! 

Then burst forth the universal question, ^‘Who 
and what was the mistress of the place ? — ^for now 
they knew it to be a lady, they must know all : 
Lord Ailye of course could tell them?” The old 
servant fell back, looking impenetrable, and Greorge 
bowed, looking more impenetrable still. am 
sure,” he observed, “not one of my friends would 
wish me to break a bond of secrecy between my- 
self and the proprietor of this fair place. It is 
enough that permission is freely granted us to in- 
spect the house and grounds — ^the first party who 
have ever done so.” 

The carrier-pigeon was still picking crumbs 
from Maya’s lily hand, when a monkey, dressed in 
an Oriental costume, with its light silver chain 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


257 


broken off short, sprang upon the table. “Friar 
Bush ! Friar Bush !” cried the servant, darting for- 
ward ; but Friar Bush effected a razzia among the 
dainties, smashed the glass and china in his course, 
and, seizing hold of a melon, flung it in the face 
of the servant with so - true an aim that the man 
staggered. Now it happened that Lady Barres 
had put her parasol in the corner of the sofa next 
her, with its ivory handle of Chinese carving up- 
permost ; Friar Bush, perceiving he was in danger 
•uf being caught, and perhaps attracted by the rose- 
colored tassel of the parasol, snatched it up, and 
ran off with it. The men pursued him, of course ; 
but he was in a moment out of sight, having dashed 
into the middle of the funereal grove. Several of 
the gentlemen now rose, for Lady Barres looked 
stern as a stone: her face stiffened with anger. 
The Thynnes, of course, were eager to go and see 
what the monkey would do ; so also was I. On 
reaching the lawn, we caught sight of Friar Bush 
scampering over the rose-beds, with Savage after 
him ; then we lost sight of him for some moments, 
and when next he appeared it was on the balus- 
trade of a terrace before the house, walking slowly 
and with great pride holding the parasol open over 
his head, his tail curling gracefully beneath his 
oriental robe. Savage sprang upon the parapet, 
and the monkey allowed himself to be caught, but 


258 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


first sliut tlie parasol and dropped it into a well at 
the foot of the terrace. The well being prettily 
overhung with maidenhair, we thought the parasol 
might only be entangled ; but, when *we came to 
look for it, it was embroidered with cobwebs and 
reeking wet, a thing Lady Barres would not suffer 
in her sight. 

On returning to the tents we found all the rest 
of the party ready to disperse; a stroll through 
the grounds having been proposed. I explained 
to Lady Barres the fate of her parasol, in low tones, 
but she repeated the interesting history aloud to 
every one. It did not signify in the least, she ob- 
served, with a sweet smile ; she never burned in 
the sun, and loved his beams; it was like dear 
Italy, where soon she hoped to be again, away 
from this false England, where even the sunshine 
was hot pure, but strained through mist and filtered 
through fog. While her ladyship turned this 
imaginative sentence, I observed that George 
whispered to Maya, who smiled and put her green 
parasol into his hand. For the moment they were 
standing behind Lady Barres, who did not observe 
this maneuver; then George came forward and 
offered Lady Barres his arm, leading her first out 
of the tent, but keeping his other hand behind him, 
still holding Maya’s parasol. 

It was one of those days that only happen in 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


259 


harvest-time, when the sunshine grows hotter and 
hotter, until just before the orb sinks below the 
horizon. When we reached the terrace the glare 
was burning, the heat being reflected from white 
stone and red gravel, while the sun’s rays poured 
down fiercely from a cloudless sky. Lady Barres 
was really of a delicate habit, and she wore one of 
L’Estrange’s most ideal bonnets, a froth of tuUe^ 
through which, as Thynne Thynne might have ex- 
pressed it, “the sunbeams soahed into her head.” 
She paused and clung to George’s arm, now really 
faint.., “ Ah, Lady Barres,” said he, “ what elf of 
the turf would not turn an oak-leaf into a parasol 
for you? See, here is one!” and he opened 
Maya’s and held it over her ladyship, to her great 
relief. “ But to whom,” she asked, when recover- 
ed, “ am I indebted for such a comfort as a real 
country parasol ? "No doubt to one of my kind 
young ladies from Eichmond — ^however do not tell 
me, Lord Ailye, for I should be obliged to restore 
it, and I do really think I want it more than the 
owner does.” 

I heard this as I was walking with Maya, just 
behind them, having drawn her on that we might 
hear what George would say. “ Indeed, Lady Barres, 
you are right,” he replied, in laughing tones ; “ the 
lady who lent it me is impervious to atmospheric 
influences. You will excuse my being explicit as 


260 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


to her name.” She then began pestering him about 
the lady of the house. 

At this moment, Mr. Henry, rather flushed, joined 
his sister and me, and on Maya inquiring where he 
had been — “ With the lady of the house,” said he, 
“to ask permission to show my friend and my sister 
something beautiful and strange, which must not 
be seen by the crowd.” 

“ With the lady herself, Mr. Henry ! It is well 
Lady Barres did not hear you say so ; she is teasing 
George again about it, and she would desert him 
for you if she knew.” 

“ But I could not take her ladyship if I would. 
I have the key here” — showing one of a Bramah’s 
lock. “You ladies are not curious?” 

“lam not,” said Maya. 

“Why will she let us go where others may 
no't?” 

“Because she has perfect confidence in Lord 
Ailye.” 

We entered the solemn grove, and the path 
became so narrow that we had to walk one by 
one; presently we reached a smaU building of 
rough stone with a black oaken door, which Mr. 
Henry unlocked. At first I thought it was a 
tiny sanctuary, but there was no altar ; it was a 
monumental shrine — a tomb. There were narrow 
lancet apertures in the thick walls, through which 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


261 




tlie softened liglit fell upon two marble recumbent 
figures of Chantrey’s finest chiseling. One, that of 
a youthful man with a heavenly countenance, 
seemed to sleep in death; the eyelids were not 
sunken, but fuU and soft, and the lips smiled. The 
robe of this figure was strewn with water-lilies 
wrought from alabaster, and round the margin of 
the robe was sculptured, “ He walked on the water 
to go to Jesus.” 

The other figure was of a woman, not asleep ; 
her eyes were open and upturned, her lips almost 
seemed to move, and her hands, exquisitely 
formed, were raised and folded together as in 
prayer. Every lineament expressed prayerfor re- 
lease ; but there were no words sculptured on her 
robe, nor any other inscription upon the base of 
the monument. 

“ This is the figure of the lady of the house,” 
observed Mr. Henry, “she had it sculptured so, 
beside her lost husband, praying to rejoin him. 
His fate was strangely sad. He was a sleep- 
walker ; but his wife, not knowing it, had taken 
no precaution. Six months after their marriage 
he left her side one night, passed out of the house, 
walked across the garden, fell into the river from 
the bank, and was drowned. His widowed partner 
soothed her grief by cherishing his memory. She 
caused this monument to be erected, and en- 


262 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


riclied and beautified every spot where be bad 
lived with ber ; but sbe never made acquaintance 
afterward, tbougb sometimes sbe bas ventured 
abroad. It was on one of those occasions Lord . 
Ailje met ber.” 

“ But who was sbe before sbe married?” I in- 
quired. 

The daughter of an Engbsb family in Eome. 
Her father entered into a second marriage with a 
Catholic lady who bad grown-up daughters, and 
who contrived to secrete ber step-daughter in a con- 
vent during ber father’s absence ; telling him, on 
bis return, that bis child bad chosen ber fate. A 
young Italian gentleman who was attached to the 
intended nun, tbougb be bad not found an oppor- 
tunity of openly declaring bis devotion, took care to 
be present at the ceremony of ber taking the vail ; 
hoping sbe would see him, and that bis presence 
might induce ber to reject the vows. It bad the 
desired effect : the novice refused to take the vail ; 
ber family would not receive ber, and ber place in 
society was lost, as is the custom in such cases. 
Sbe married her lover, who was rich, and brought 
ber to England ; and as this place suited them, from 
its loneliness, they bought it. That is all I 
know.” 

“ How disappointing all social mysteries are when 
cleared up. Who could have thought so romantic 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


263 


a story could be reduced to sucb matter-of-fact in- 
cidents.” 

“ Miss Eeynolds, you are unreasonable. Should 
I have invented others to please you?” 

Maya looked excited and dissatisfied: her pale 
cheek flushed. ‘‘We have not heard all,” she said, 
“ we have not heard — 

“ How Lord Ailye made the lady’s acquaintance,” 
said Mr. Henry, as she paused. “ Miss Eeynolds 
did not think of that !” 

“Ho,” said I, without reflection, “I thought that 
you had made her acquaintance, not George.” 

Mr. Henry smiled upon my self-betraying blun- 
der, which I was conscious of even as it passed my 
lips. 

“ The story is short, and the end should be 
shorter,” he added ; “You know the chaplain of 
, . . . Inn, of whom your cousin. Lord Ailye, thinks 
so highly. One Sunday this spring we saw a lady 
at church whom we had never observed before; 
she was still young and very fair, but bent and 
bowed, and dressed like an older person than she 
looked. As we went out after service we saw her 
standing pale and perplexed in the road, near an 
invalid chair, where no attendant was in waiting. 
Lord Ailye inquired whether he could assist her. 
She answered, timidly and in a very sweet voice, 
that she was seldom in town, and had only come 


264 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


the day before, wishing to hear Mr. preach ; 

adding, that the servant who had drawn the chair 
that morning had left it standing in the road, and 
had gone away, taking her purse. We were rather 
astonished when she showed us a pocket in the 
lining of the chair, where she was in the habit of 
putting her purse ; but she explained that she had 
been used to a faithful old servant who had lately 
died : and it was evident that she had lived too 
much alone to be on her guard against town 
knavery. She could not walk, and Lord Ailye had 
not his carriage at hand — can you guess what he 
did?” 

“Drew the chair himself/’ I suggested: “I 
should have done so.” 

“But,” inquired Maya, looking at her brother, 
“ did not you help Lord Ailye ?” 

“I tried to do so, Maya. I pushed the chair be- 
hind, and would have drawn it; but Lord Ailye, 
whose arm is strong though he is so delicate, pushed 
me aside. I must confess I felt proud that my 
pupil should show such an example to gentlemen 
of his age.” 

I did not see any thing very exalted or heroic in 
Greorge’s drawing a lady’e invalid chair a little dis- 
tance, when her footman had run off with her 
purse ; but Maya and Mr. Henry seemed lost in 
admiration ; I suppose because Greorge was English ; 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


265 


for I fear they did not think very highly of En- 
glishmen in general. It was of course quite expli- 
cable now why the lady should have given George 
the entree of her beautiful solitude. 

To return to the parasol. By the time we three 
reached the terrace after leaving the grove, several 
of the company were walking there, others on the 
lawn and among the aviaries. Lady Barres was 
upon the terrace, till detaining George ; and by his 
lofty expression and her insinuating manner, I 
could see that she had been givinghim advice. As 
we mounted the terrace steps, she caught sight of 
Maya, walking without a parasol. I took care to 
hold mine up that she might perceive that it was 
to Maya she had been indebted. 

Her ladyship turned a color somewhat of the 
same hue, though paler than the parasol, which she 
shut up ; then waiting till we were at the top of 
the steps, she handed it to Maya, who did not at 
first understand why it was returned to her. “ I do 
not require it,” said Maya, simply; “and I hope 
your ladyship will be pleased to use it still : I am 
happy I had it with me.” Lady Barres did not 
bend nor turn her head, but dropped the parasol, 
which fell down the terrace steps : Thynne Thynne 
snatched it up and carried it away. 

Lady Barres beckoned the duchess to her. “We 
will go now,” she said, “ the day has been far too 
12 


266 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


long already. Wliere is that child Eowena?” 
Now Rowena and Hugh de Brabazone were just 
' then gazing on the prospect from the top of the 
house, and Lady Barres, in high dudgeon, would 
not wait for them to be fetched. She said Miss 
Vanx could return with Miss Reynolds in the 
evening. George was of course obliged to escort 
his two distinguished guests to their carriage, and 
their departure was as welcome to him as to us, 
though he did not show it. 

We now rambled over the house, only a corner 
of which its mistress really occupied. There were 
curiosities in abundance. One room was hun^with 
feathers ; a small gallery of Italian pictures boasted 
a few gems of art ; a state bed-chamber contained 
a bed in which a king had slept, the quilt being 
embroidered with needle- work with the royal arms 
in the middle, surrounded by medallions of George 
the Third’s children, looking all alike, and resem- 
bling pumpkins cut into human profiles. 

When George returned, he told us he had found 
Savage and the coachman sitting in the unhorsed 
carriage, the former eating lobster salad with a 
spoon, the latter scooping out a melon, with the 
aid of a lump of sugar, and a Champagne-bottle 
between them. 

Of course George persisted that Lady Barres had 
gone off in a huff because he would not tell her 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


267 


about tbe lady of the house — ^he did not allude to 
the parasol. After a refreshment of coffee, cream, 
and sillabub, the boats were rowed up to the steps ; 
and while the guests embarked, the musicians 
played “ Grod save the King” as if the fine old tune 
were tipsy. Presently Thynne Thynne, who had 
been missing all the evening, appeared, running, 
hot and dusty, holding Maya’s parasol open, but 
inverted. He presented it to her filled with forget- 
me-nots, which he had been gathering on the 
banks of the river — ^mud, roots, and flowers all 
together ; but, no sooner had the poet been landed 
at Eichmond, than George threw the parasol into 
the river, breaking the reflex of the harvest-moon 
into a thousand golden sparkles as he flung it dis- 
dainfully away. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


jflAViNG some slight influence over Lord Nor- 
manville, I resolved to employ it for the purpose 
of revenge — ^not maliciously, but -vnth righteous 
indignation. When he called next time, I en- 
sconced myself in the dining-room, and crossed 
the hall as he came down stairs ; as if by accident, 
of course. I told him I was very sorry we had 
not the pleasure "of his company at Yillarosa, 
where we passed a very pleasant day. His start 
and puzzled expression convinced me that, as I 
suspected, he had never received his invitation 
from Lady Barres. 

A day or two afterward, I wrote his lordship 
a note, which I forbade him to show to any body, 
asking a favor such as I could have only ventured 
to request of two or three persons. It was that he 
would invite Miss Henry, with her aunt and 
brother, to dinner, to meet Lady Barres. I insinu- 
ated my fears that Lady Barres did not like the 
family, but urged that it was important she should, 
for reasons which it would not be difficult for him 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


269 


to guess, tliougli I could not explain them. I 
added that it was a whim of mine to wish they 
should all meet under his lordship’s roof, and I 
trusted to his extraordinary kindness to excuse it. 

I cared for nothing but to see Lady Barres non- 
plused by meeting Maya under circumstances 
which would oblige her to behave politely. She 
dared not at present do any thing, not only that 
would offend, but that would not absolutely please 
Lord ISTormanville. 

Lord ISTormanville granted my request, and went 
beyond it, for he did not tell Lady Barres whom 
she was going to meet. Poor man! how I es- 
teemed him. He had by this time found, in the 
depths of his honest nature, the key to the cipher 
by which he read Lady Barres’s character. His 
countenance betrayed this in its dignified dejection 
and resigned eye ; yet ennobled by the pride of 
character which prevented his withdrawing from 
the engagement to which he had pledged himself. 
I believe he even fathomed her treachery toward 
me. ’Had he discovered that she was a veritable 
witch whom he was about to espouse — one who 
held his life as well as his peace in her own hands 
— he would still have espoused her ; still treated 
her with honorable kindness, and tried to better 
her by his influence. I mention this in justice to 
his memory, for now he is at peace. 


270 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


Lord Normanville gave, not merely a dinner, 
but a magnificent entertainment : there were fifty 
persons present. I shall never forget Lady 
Barres’s face when her sharp long sight detected 
Maya among the guests, with her aunt and her 
brother. But her ladyship showed consummate 
tact ; for she behaved exactly as though she had 
not been introduced to them before : she bowed 
coolly but politely, as to perfectly new faces, and 
warmed very gradually ; still did warm, for she 
foresaw that she would have to receive them as 
equals. She was too subtle to treat them as in- 
feriors, for of inferiors she would none : she never 
condescended, because she would only associate 
with her equals,; assuming, of course, that she had 
no superiors. 

As for Lord Normanville, he treated Maya with 
more distinction than any person present, except 
Lady Barres; and had he been George’s father, 
he could not have contrived with more affectionate 
tact to connect Maya and George together — ^not 
by intimation which could pain or perplex them, 
but by glance and gesture, such as an elder may 
use toward the young and fair. He also pre- 
pared every one to hear of their engagement, which 
was announced a few weeks afterward. Lady 
Barres was obliged not only to bear his behavior, 
but to share it ; and she was enforced that very 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


271 


evening to ask Maya to grace lier wedding, just at 
hand. 

As for tke other ladies, the long lane of their 
social straightforwardness had turned already. On 
the night of George’s quadrille there had not been 
any one present who could trace the nationahty of 
the Henrys in their countenances. 

British beauty is of so mixed a character that 
my friends might have been considered only 
foreign-looking — a characteristic which merges so 
many and various combinations of the soft 
Saxon, the glowing Norman, and the vigorous Celt. 

Now, however, it had been announced that 
they were of a Polish family : Mr. Henry, having 
no longer a motive for concealment, gloried in 
proclaiming his country; though still preserving 
the secret of his ancestral name, until he could 
claim his estates and honors. However, when 
once known to be a Pole, he passed into the torrid 
zone of popularity, and became the rage for the rest 
of the season. For, in the world, the immortal 
soul and the immortal cause are alike prized and 
served according to the fascination which the m- 
dividual exercises over the hearts of the many; 
not according to. the worth of the soul or the right- 
eousness of the cause. 

Mr. Henry, quite as much as Maya, might 
have been fUed every where ; they received invita- 


272 


MY FIKST SEASON. 


tions of all kinds, and many from- very superior 
people : indeed they might have lived among 
the great world of rank and fashion for a whole 
month, which is ahont the limit of the endurance 
of “ a rage.” 

If I had been in Maya’s place, I fear I should 
have refused to go to Lady Barres’s wedding ; but 
she did not, her nature being too lofty for such 
resentment. Lady Barres was married, and we 
were all present ; the ^ceremony was what is called 
very private ; that is, as it took place after every 
body had left town, the guests had to come up ftom 
their country houses. Eowena and I were brides- 
maids, the youngest of the twelve. Maya was 
not one. Lady Barres was watchful and worried 
upon her bridal morning; but she looked beau- 
tiful if not amiable, for she did not attempt to 
appear younger than she was. She wore no 
flowers, but a tiara of emeralds ; a rich green 
dress with a train of silver brocade, and a short 
vail of silver lace. The ceremony impressed me 
with its dullness, its brevity, and its want of what 
artists call incident. At the breakfast all was bril- 
m liant except the spirits of the company. Eowena 
succeeded in stealing one of Hugh de Brabazone’s 
seamless gloves, while he kept one of hers ; which 
showed that the ceremony proved suggestive, at 
least in one instance. 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


273 


Eowena was left witli the duchess, and went 
with her to Cheltenham; while Lord and Lady 
Normanville went over to the Continent. When 
alone together in a companionship for life, how do 
uncongenial persons feel themselves ? The matri- 
monial abyss is silent as the grave. I remained 
with Maya and her aunt, who spoiled me for all 
other female society. 

George did not hint at the consummation of 
his hopes all through the autumn, whereat I 
marveled. But, observing my cousin, I dis- 
covered it was not only to the voice of his heart 
that he listened ; he also obeyed the dictates of his 
understanding, which taught him that a man like 
Mr. Henry, in leaving his sister in a foreign land, 
ought to have the security of her happiness tested, 
and should be able to confide her to one whose 
friendship and devotion she had proved, as well as 
her brother. 

George had to visit Ashleigh frequently, return- 
ing as soon as possible to town; or rather to a 
cottage in its environs, which Mr. Henry had 
taken for three months. We all became very fond 
of this cottage, and attributed to it a future ro- 
mance which it was doomed to forego; for after 
all Maja did not step from its threshhold a bride. 

By the middle of November the mild weather 
fell to frost, with bitter winds. The thorn-bushes 
12 * 


274 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


were loaded with their small scarlet fruits, and%i 
robin flew in at the window when it was opened, 
on the morning of the flrst of December : in fact 
the weather favored George. He invited us all to 
go to Ashleigh for Christmas, and would take no 
denial. He added that Mr. Henry could of course 
take his sister away after dinner on Christmas 
Day ; or that Maya might remain, if she pleased, 
in her own room : these and other incoherences 
being called forth by Mr. Henry’s proud disincli- 
nation to let his sister go to Ashleigh before her 
marriage. But now George was resolute, and in- 
duced his beloved and beautiful friend to put a 
period to Mr. Henry’s proprieties by flxing her 
marriage-day, Mr. Henry would not set out for 
Ashleigh until Christmas Eve, though George had 
left town some days before. I had staid to ac- 
company Maya, and I could but smile at her 
brother’s determination to carry her away from 
Ashleigh the morning after Christmas Day. How- 
ever, we had not gone one stage when it began to 
snow, and before we were out of Kent the ground 
was whitened. The snow thickened and deepened 
every moment, until within ten miles of Ashleigh - ^ 
the post-chaise labored through three feet of drift, 
every flake freezing as it fell ; and by the time we ] 

reached the park gates it would have been impos- . ' 

sible to go any further. ^ 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


275 


Ashleigh had not been modernized, but im- 
proved. The frames of carving in the hall now 
enclosed the fresh guilt frames of their own old 
pictures, reclaimed from cellar and lumber-room ; 
the dining-room was splendid with its purple hang- 
ings and richlj-covered sideboard of plate; and 
the drawing-rooms were superbly decorated and 
furnished. Above all, the portrait-gallery was re- 
stored: every Yaux had there his image, from 
mailed Eanulf with his star, to Edward in his 
black coat, with his Bible ; there were also Bea- 
trices, so like myself that I started at the resem- 
blance. 

The snow continued to fall incessantly. On 
Christmas Day the chapel in the house was filled, 
with guests, as no one could get to the parish 
church. For several days we were snowed up : 
the snow did not melt, and the clouds went on 
adding to its depth. Yery suddenly a thaw en- 
sued: one morning, three weeks after Christmas, 
on looking out of our windows, lo I the snow had 
all gone, the grass seemed greener than ever, birds 
sang in the leafless trees, and the sun glittered: 
every body hailed the welcome change. Ag^'ee- 
ably as the company had been entertained, the 
guests now spoke of dispersing ; many had other 
visits to pay, and all felt that their host’s heart 
was not, as they say at pubhc meetings, “with 


276 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


them.” Indeed it was quite an event when Maya 
came among them ; and therefore George’s heart 
was in the little turret where her room was situ- 
ated : a chamber remote from all. 

At breakfast, on the morning of the thaw, 
George requested his guests, however anxious they 
were to depart (as he was aware they had reason 
to be), to remain until the following afternoon. 
This was a request impossible to refuse ; partiou' 
larly as he told them, with pleasant significance, 
that he hoped they would not stay any longer 
than the time he mentioned. Mr. Henry was at 
breakfast, and did not raise his eyes, conscious 
that his old pupil’s eyes were upon Mm: Maya 
was breakfasting in the turret with her aunt. 

After breakfast, George, taking Mr. Henry’s 
arm, drew him out of "the hall, smiling me an in- 
vitation to follow. We three went to the turret, 
and George knocked at Maya’s door. Maya, who 
was just then making a frock for a little child 
whose father had been frozen to death, put down 
the tiny garment, and boked rather surprised at 
this visitation; especially when George said, “I 
have brought my two witnesses to your promise 
for to-morrow, which I have not forgotten, and 
now entreat you to fulfill.” In fact, the next day 
had been settled for their marriage. 

George, whose forecast had arranged every 



MY FIRST SEASON. 277 

tiling, carried liis point trinmpliantly: Maya 
urged that she had not a suitable dress, where- 
upon George produced one:~a most beautiful 
bridal robe, the work of a French maid whom he 
had brought from town for his future wife ; a 
lady’s maid with more than L’Estrange’s clever- 
ness and none of her impertinence, and who had 
taken Maya’s measure with her eye, and fitted 
her as that fairy of old time fitted the princess 
with her three robes of sky, and cloud, and rainbow. 

The chapel next morning presented a most pic- 
turesque aspect. Holly, laurestinas, laurel, and 
other evergreens, wreathed banner, escutcheon, and 
monument; the azure star and crimson rose of 
Yaux, in the painted windows, glowed with the 
sunshine that streamed upon the altar ; the pave- 
ment and steps were carpeted with purple velvet 
strewed with snowdrops. The ceremony was really 
an impressive solemnity; only disturbed by the 
flutter of curiosity which prompted the guests to 
peep at the book in which Maya wrote her maiden 
signature — her real name — for the first and last 
time : it was a name denoting a lineage higher than 
that of the highest th^re. 

After the dejeuner — that banquet to be endured 
and forgotten, and at which the congratulatory 
speeches were, as usual, failures — all the guests left 
Ashleigh, leaving Lord and Lady Ailye there. 


278 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


Miss Henrj, Mr. Henry and I, returned to town 
together, taking with us Spencer and Wilton Yaux, 
now yellow-haired laddies of a stately growth, with 
naore of the Gordon than Yaux. They staid with 
us at the cottage until the spring, when we all went 
to Ashleigh on a visit. 

Mr. Henry had already left England, and was 
now at Warsaw. The patriot passion, so long 
smothered, fanned again by hope, burned brightly 
in his soul ; its ardent flame fed by fresh aspira- 
tions: and if there had been melancholy in his 
farewell greeting, it was surely because so much of 
apprehension, as well as hope, beset the undertak- 
ing that for long and weary years had been the 
cherished aim of his being. 


To the chronicle of my first season must be 
added an episode of later experience. 

The character of Maya and the career of George 
have neither deteriorated nor dwindled by time. 
In these days, moderate talents and practical vir- 
tues secure earlier success than exceptional genius, 
against which stubborn mediocrity will rebel. At 
a time of political perversion, therefore, George 
has taken a high place : but, strange to say, he had 
not long experienced the charms and responsibili- 

■m 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


279 


ties of office before lie resolved that no son of his, 
unless self-prompted, should be educated to follow- 
in his steps. Having redeemed his youthful pledge 
by becoming a statesman in time of peace, he 
manifested his devotion to his country by training 
his boys for her service in time of war ; and the 
time has now arrived for testing their promise 
among ten thousand others. The eldest, having 
evinced a childish passion for the sea, was separ- 
ated from his brothers when they joined the army; 
and they, two mere boys, fought side by side till 
the youngest fell, upon his maiden field, last year. 
This death of a dear and duteous child was the 
first shadow cast by Heaven upon a home till then 
too brightly happy. 

Maya’s course has been successful too ; as there 
are for women other and more precious triumphs 
than those of public life. She always held some 
views not fashionably orthodox ; for instance, she 
denies that because a man is absorbed in political 
interests, he and his wife can never be “an hour 
alone.” Also she asserts that a mother who edu- 
cates her daughters under her own eye, can like- 
wise fulfill the social duties — ^if not exactions — 
which are the support and ornament of high po- 
sition. 

The beauty of Lady Ailye, before her marriage 
perhaps too delicate for popular appreciation, ex- 


280 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


panded under the amenities of those refined social 
enjoyments which afterward surrounded her, to a 
perfection rare in England. Neither 
for politics, nor infatuated by the patriotism which 
often misleads our sex, she is eminently feminine 
in her devotion to her husband, whose land she 
loves because it contains her home. For the first 
year of her marriage she submitted entirely to 
custom, and was the “ rage” of that season. Her 
entertainments were most brilliant and original, 
being varied by the richness of her foreign taste : 
thus, in some sort, she made a return for the hom- 
age she received abroad ; and she bore away the 
palm even from among the successful few who 
arbitrate for the striving many. The next year 
she was looked for, of course, eagerly, and not 
without envy ; but she was then a mother, and the 
claims of society were subordinate to those of her 
home duties. Among the refined and the exalted 
only she moved and found her friends. 

Her eldest daughter is a mild and gentle 
Beatrice ; most unlike her godmamma ; resembling 
but not rivaling her mother in beauty. This young 
lady is not anxious to leave her home, though 
already she has had many solicitations to choose 
one for herself. Maya, the second daughter, just 
out, has a high spirit, which I hope may be bent 
without breaking her heart. There are other girls. 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


.281 


opening buds of cbildhood, and a baby*boy wlio, . 
in delicacy of organization and sweetness of na- 
ture, is an angel among them all. 

Lord Normanville, wbo was ever to me tbe 
kindest of friends, died ratber suddenly of heart- 
complaint, in the sixth year after his marriage 
with Lady Barres. To his great satisfaction she 
had brought him one son, a fairy -like infant, with 
marble brow and golden hair. This child — the 
idol-angel of poor Lord Kormanville — died when 
four years old, having scarcely grown since its 
birth, except in beauty. I believe its death accel- 
erated that of its father, so deeply and bitterly he 
sorrowed. Still, as the disease which destroyed 
him alike baffles forecast and defies remedy, it may 
be that under happier circumstances he would not 
have lived. 

Lady Barres had sacrificed the jointure append- 
ing to her first widowhood by marrying Lord Nor- 
manville, and she had but a small private fortune ; 
for that of her son, Lord Barres (or what was left 
of it), at his death, passed, with the estate, to a dis- 
tant relative. 

The earldom of ISTormanville and its estates, in- 
cluding the ancestral park and chase, a town-house, 
Border Castle, and villa on the chfis of Devon, all 
fell to the share of Hugh de Brabazone ; who had 
already a superb property of his own. Eowena 


282 


MY FIRST SEASON. 


married Hugh de Brabazone, after dallying a few 
months with his proposals, lest she might lose the 
chance of others; finding that none came, and 
fearing to lose the icldt of a marriage at eighteen, 
she finally espoused him with precipitation, and 
complacently assumed her dignities. By becoming 
Countess of bTormanville she found these magnified 
beyond her most sanguine hopes and most aspiring 
dreams. And as for the dowager countess, of those 
advantages which she so skillfully selected for her- 
self, there remained to her none whatever; she 
was doomed to behold them enjoyed by one whom 
she had despised even more than she dreaded 
me ; indeed, had it not been for the generous pro- 
vision of her second lord, she would have had to 
crave admission into the list of those designated 
by the '‘black book” as “pensioned for poverty.” 

As for Eowena, her faults being negative, nega- 
tive is also her reward. Hot yet wise enough to 
declare that all is vanity, she only finds that all is 
weariness. Yet blessed may be the fruit of the 
tree of knowledge, if the bitter taste it leaves 
within the soul it surfeited should create immortal 
longings for the fruit of the Tree of Life. 

Burnett married Savage ; for although Lady 
Hormanville did not see that he was made house- 
steward, her lord set him up in a shop, and as a 
respectable tradesman, he was, of course, still supe- 


MY FIRST SEASON. 283 

rior to Burnett. Slie had, however, better have 
been “ a mad dog or a dead cat,” as she expressed 
it, than have married Savage, for he would dine at 
six o’clock every evening, sit late over his wine, 
and rise at ten to breakfast. To his wife he left 
the duty of keeping the books ; but, as her calcu- 
lations had been confined to the cost of dress and 
millinery, she failed in the grocery line : between 
them both the shop went to smash. Savage then 
took another service, and Burnett went to America, 
with an outfit and passage provided by Lord Nor- 
manville. I believe she would marry again, only 
she is not sure of Savage’s death ; nor is she aware 
that he had married again. 

L’Estrange staid with Lady Normanville, and 
managed to have a continually increasing salary, 
with ‘‘perquisites” ad hbitum; but of course she 
quitted on the earl’s death. She possessed heaps 
of dresses scarcely worn, which she remodeled 
and sold. She went on governing the great, whom 
she served, and ultimately became proprietor of a 
large court-millinery establishment ; now she rules 
the aristocracy of fashion, as she once ruled Lady 
Barres. She never married, being too prudent 
and too selfish 

Mr. Henry has only been twice to England since 
his sister’s marriage His patriotism and devoted 
purpose are not yet rewarded ; but he is rewarded 


284 


MY FIEST SEASON. 


with, the love and honor of his race : not an incon- 
sistency has marred his course. His noble destiny 
forbids me to frame the wish that I might have 
shared it. The fire has passed upon him, for his 
hair reflects a silver light over its raven shades, 
and his graceful figure bends ; but still the glance 
of life and energy is unquenched within his eye : 
still he hopes on, and while he lives will ever 
hope. 

And at this crisis, when the confused noise- of 
war is heard afar amid the nations, and raiment 
“ rolled in blood” troubles our nightly dreams — 
when old enemies, united as brothers, are fighting 
against the enemy side by side — one may hope 
that the rights of Poland will be restored, with 
those of other nations struggling against their op- 
pressors. The day may yet be distant, but will 
surely dawn, when this glorious people — ^long-suf- 
fering but not dejected — ^shall be again a nation, 
and be hailed as the only barrier against the bar- 
barians of the north. 


THE END. 





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